by Travis Brett
The foyer of the Security Ministry was a shrine to bureaucratic inefficiency. Men scurried between rows of desks, carrying stacks of binders; a queue of workers waited for an elevator; a secretary sat behind a reception desk, stuck in a perpetual state of reshuffling papers. Roman wanted to smack the self-important look off each of their faces. They work here in their safe little tower, while monsters roam the streets outside. The ministry didn’t make the citizens feel safe. The ministry made itself safe.
He pushed his way to the reception desk. The mess of workers parted at the sight of the body bag over Tan’s shoulder. These cowards were even scared of a dead Adrenalite.
The receptionist was a gaunt man with a chin so pointed it looked sharp enough to be dangerous. He didn’t bother to look up at them.
Roman loudly knocked on the desk. “I’ve got an appointment with the Captain.”
“I wasn’t aware that—”
“She requested to see me.” Roman knew that lies told with enough confidence – and a threatening tone – were often more effective than the truth.
“And your name was?” The receptionist finally looked up. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Roman was aware of how out of place he must look, but he felt no shame for his torn black cloak, matted hair and bruised face. These people here, with their clean haircuts and new clothes, were the ones who should be ashamed. They reminded him of who he had been three years ago — the kind of person who wouldn’t survive one week in the outskirts.
“My name is Roman,” he said. “Hopefully, you’ve heard of me. That’ll save me having to explain why you should listen to me when I tell you that I need to see Juliette.”
“And I’m Tan,” Tan casually sat down on the desk and pointed a thumb to Burrstone. “And this here is my mate Billy, wanna shake his hand?”
To his credit, the reception only looked mildly sick when he noticed the black bag. He raised his unnatural chin in defiance. “The Captain is busy. You will have to book an appointment.”
“Can we book an appointment with you instead?” Tan asked. “Maybe later tonight, in a dark alley?”
“I don’t believe that is—”
“Roman!” A call came from behind. “What are you doing here?”
Roman knew that voice. John Edwards. He forced a smile and turned to face his old friend.
Edwards weaved his way to them. A short man with neatly trimmed hair and a matching goatee, his coat and trousers were tidy even by the standards of the other staff. He walked with the kind of stiff, perfect posture that made Roman want to push him over just to see if his back could bend. Roman shook Edwards’ hand. The man’s skin felt unnaturally soft.
Edwards smiled. “I see that you managed to survive another job.”
No thanks to you, was Roman’s first thought. Instead, he replied, “You don’t sound relieved?”
“Mostly just surprised.”
“Seems that Legacy hasn’t finished with me yet.”
“She is a most demanding goddess, to be sure. Good morning Tan, Ruby.” Edwards nodded to them in turn.
“How you doing, chief?” Tan said. “I see your efforts to replicate my sexy hairstyle ain’t been successful yet.”
Edwards grimaced at Tans frizzled afro as if it offended him, running his hand over his own hair as if to convince himself it was still pristine. “And I notice that your labours at understanding the proper pronunciation of our language are still . . . non-existent.”
Roman gave Tan a glare that pre-emptively silenced his comeback. “John, I need a favour.”
“Anything for a fellow historian.”
I’m not that, not anymore. And neither are you. Now you’re just a pencil pushing bureaucrat. Again, Roman bit his tongue. “I need to see the Captain.”
“Ah . . . You never did ask for the straightforward things. She doesn’t want to see you. Ever.”
“And I don’t want to see her.”
“Well, problem solved, right? Believe me, I don’t want a part in whatever trouble you two have with each other.”
“You want to ignore any real conflict?” This time, the words left Roman’s mouth before he could stop them. “I can see why you choose to work here.”
Edwards’ smile inverted into a frown. “Fuck you, Roman. We can’t all be so-called rebel heroes like you.”
“Not all of us. But you could have been.”
“I’m not the one who turned his back on everything he believed in, just for his own personal vendetta. So take your high horse and ride it to the slums you pretend to love. I know you don’t care about them. This is just your endless quest for revenge because—”
Roman stepped forward. He towered over Edwards. He couldn’t believe this coward had once been one of his best friends.
“That’s enough.” Ruby stepped between them, placing a firm hand on each of their chests. “There’s plenty of violence in this city without you two being utter jackasses.”
Roman snarled. “He’s the one who—”
“I said, that’s enough.”
Roman lowered his head, suddenly embarrassed. He had let his anger get the better of him before he’d even got to Juliette.
“Now,” Ruby said to Edwards, “I’m going to say what Roman should have said at the beginning: John, this is important, and we need your help. Can you get us to see the Captain?”
Edwards blew out a long breath, looking conflicted. Roman knew what was going on inside his mind: He knows I’m right, and he feels guilty because he’s too weak to admit it. But he’ll only feel guiltier if he doesn’t help us.
Edwards’ shoulders slumped, his perfect posture lost. “Fine. She’s in the interrogation room on the fifteenth floor. Just don’t tell her that I told you.” He slunk off.
“Thanks, Ruby,” Roman said.
“You wouldn’t have to thank me if you just kept your emotions in check.”
“Give Roman a break, love,” Tan said. “We can’t all have the emotional deficiency of Caleb. I personally like that our boss is a spiteful son of a bitch.”
Roman chuckled. “You’re far too kind, Tan. Go get the payment for our dead friend. I’ll go deal with Captain shit-wits. Care to join me, Ruby?”
“For once, the company of Tan and a cold corpse is the preferable option,” Ruby replied. “Have you figured out how you’re going to get her to talk to you?”
“I’ll use my natural charm,” Roman said. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll rip her teeth out.”
* * *
The militia guarding the interrogation room looked up as Roman strode down the hallway. He quickly stepped between Roman and the door. “Hey! You can’t be here. This area is—”
“Don’t care.” Roman shoved the militia aside, kicked the door open, and, dodging the militia’s ham-fisted grab, went inside.
The interrogation room had no windows. Of course. In the center of the room an albino man slouched on a metal chair, chained to the floor by his wrists. His face was a hash of cuts and bruises, blood dripping from split lips. He squinted at Roman through one black eye, the other obviously too swollen to open. “Hey, you’re—”
“I know who he is.” Juliette stepped between Roman and the man. “What I don’t know is what the fuck he’s doing here.”
Juliette was a wisp of a woman. Her black suit hung off her thin frame, slender hands hardly poking out of the sleeves. Her face was so gaunt it looked ready to collapse in on itself. She had brown hair cut to shoulder length, knotted in at least a dozen places. Every aspect of her appearance should have made her look small, frail and vulnerable.
Should have. But didn’t.
It was something in the way she held herself, something about the smile twitching at the corner of her lips, the way her hazel eyes scanned Roman. Like he was a dirty stain on her jacket. Like she found him insignificant, irritating, and pitiful, all at once.
And Roman wanted to grab her by that frizzy hair and hurl her face into the wall. This room had probably seen worse acts o
f violence, after all.
Instead, he took the diplomatic approach, and said: “We need to talk.”
Juliette folded her arms and shook her head. “I don’t need anything but to see that ugly shit stain you call a face leaving my ministry. Right now.” Her voice was deep. Strong. Authoritative. Nothing like her appearance, but everything like her persona.
The militia that Roman had hustled past entered, obviously flustered. He seized Roman by the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Captain, he just—”
Roman glowered at the hand holding him. “If you don’t let go of me, I will tear your hand off. Then I will keep it as a memento while I feed the rest of you, piece by piece, to the hungriest mutie-hound I find.”
The militia let go.
“Is this part of my questioning?” The seated man mumbled, sputtering blood with each word.
Juliette back-handed him across the face. “Shut up.”
“That’s an interesting interrogation technique,” Roman smirked, satisfied with how mad he was clearly making her. “You’re meant to get him to talk.”
“Right now, I’m considering letting him go and making you take his place. Why are you here?”
“I told you: we need to talk. It’s about Candle.”
Juliette’s furious expression vanished, quickly replaced with a blank poker face. “What do you know?”
“I know that whoever he is, he’s out to destroy this ministry.”
“So?”
“I need information. Everything you have about Candle.”
The room was silent for a long moment while Juliette examined him. Roman didn’t flinch away from the stare. Finally, she snapped her fingers at the militia. “Leave.” She turned to Roman. “You have two minutes to convince me why I should tell you anything.”
The militia looked relieved to depart. The chained man watched him go, clearly envious. “Maybe I should leave too?” he said.
Juliette slammed her heel into his foot. “You’re staying.”
“Who is he anyway?” Roman asked, gesturing to the man. “Your new boyfriend?”
“A rado-weed dealer. And a tax-evading piece of shit.”
“I should have guessed this would be about your stupid taxes. It’s really important work you’re doing here, Juliette,” Roman said. “You’re doing a fantastic job at keeping this city safe.”
“Spare me your sarcasm. I can’t run a ministry on charity. And your two minutes are wasting away.”
“Fine. But I shouldn’t have to try and convince you. You should be begging me for help. We both know that the only reason Adrenalites haven’t overthrown the Ministries already is that they’ve always acted alone, with short-sighted goals. But if this ‘Candle’ character is real, and if he’s rallying other rogues to help him destroy this ministry, then you’re in serious danger.”
“And why would you care? You hate me and how I run this ministry.”
“You’re right. Truth be told, you’re a rat-faced, radioactive vulture. And I hope someone clips your fingernails with a machete. But I would rather have your useless ministry in charge of Legacy than the Adrenalites. And I know that without my help, you may as well shoot yourself now and give Candle control of this city.”
“If I wanted your help, I would be using your greasy hair to wipe my arse,” Juliette retorted. “Despite what you believe, you’re not the only one here with power. I’m the one with the army, remember?”
“The militia, an army? As if you’d ever have the balls to use them. They waste away here, protecting your little facade of civilization, while the rest of Legacy collapses. What power do you really have if you’re too afraid to use it?”
Juliette snapped her fingers and turned back to her prisoner. “Your time is up. Get out, Roman.”
Roman wanted to strangle her. Why did she have to make this so hard? He was literally offering help. It was insane for her to refuse him. Unless—
Of course. “You’re hiding something,” he said.
Juliette laughed. “Oh, great deduction, Roman. I’m not telling all my ministries secrets to a bounty hunter. There’s obviously no possible explanation except a conspiracy.”
“Listen to me.” Roman stepped forward, fists clenched. He towered over her, but Juliette stared up at him defiantly — there was no fear in her hazel eyes. “I don’t bring you rogue Adrenalites because I like you. It’s because I trust you. You may be inadequate, but you’re not evil. However, if you give me this reason to doubt that, even for a second, then I may decide to sell my next capture to the highest bidder. I heard Gavin’s always looking for pit fighters.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I fucking would.”
It was a bluff. He would rather kill an Adrenalite then send one to a man like Gavin, but that didn’t matter as long as Juliette believed him. The silence stretched out as they glared at each other. Roman refused to look away first. Finally, Juliette sighed and said:
“Come to my office.”
* * *
Juliette’s office was on the twenty-first floor — the highest still in use. Inside, it was the kind of office that must have driven Edwards insane. Loose papers were scattered across her desk. Towers of binders leaned against the walls, some piled high enough to nearly touch the ceiling. A whiteboard hung from the wall, dozens of notes scrawled across it in tiny, illegible writing. The window covering the entire back wall was as filthy as the city it looked down upon.
Juliette took her seat behind the desk, instantly beginning to sort through her papers. “Should I ask why you didn’t bring the traitor with you?”
Ruby. “She sends her warmest regards and says she’s sorry for not being here in person, but she’s allergic to shit-talkers,” Roman said. “They give her a rash.”
“And she still works alongside Tan? She must be itching all over. But please, you must be tired from being an asshole all the time, have a seat.”
Roman frowned at the chair in front of him. It was the same style as the one in the interrogation room, minus the chains. “I’ll stand.”
“You always were a stubborn one. Now, how did you hear about Candle?”
“It was meant to be you giving me information.”
“Just answer the damn question.”
“Fine. I caught Burrstone last night. He was hiding in the eastern outskirts. District 17. He mentioned Candle.”
“Burrstone . . .” Juliette paused in her search through her papers. “BX77? The one who rampaged in the sixth district two months ago? I thought he’d vanished.”
“He did.” It hadn’t been easy to track him down. Months of cold trails, hundreds of people questioned, dozens of bribes. “Just not far enough.”
“So why aren’t you bashing in his head right now? Why come ruin my day if you could get the answers from him?”
“Uh . . .” She isn’t going to be happy about this. “He’s a little bit more on the dead side of things . . .”
“Fucking damn it. You said you caught him!”
Yeah, definitely not happy. “We did catch him. But then he decided he would rather kill himself than have to see your face.”
“And you couldn’t stop him? I need them brought in alive, Roman.” Juliette thumped her fist against the desk. Despite her size, the punch sounded solid. “I understand you rejoice in every Adrenalite death, but, just for once, think of the bigger picture.”
“Because you can’t find slaves elsewhere?” Roman retorted. Everyone knew what happened to captured rogues – the Ministry of Security kept them as workers on the wind farms south of the city, maintaining the machines that generated the city’s power. No one knew exactly what it was they did, only that it was a life sentence.
Roman had never been to the wind farms himself. As far as he was aware, the only people who ever had were the captives and the guards that watched over them. Though he had watched those giant wind turbines on the horizon, endlessly turning. It was hard to believe such colossal blades could move from the wind alone. He of
ten wondered whether Juliette was using Adrenalite labour to move them. What else were the prisoners doing?
Juliette shook her head. “You know it’s not that simple.”
“Just hire workers. You know our economy needs more jobs.”
“Despite what you believe, I’m not made of money. Besides, men working alongside captured Adrenalites? Who in their right mind would do it?”
“Then don’t use Adrenalites.”
“And what would you have me do with them?”
“Treat them the same way they would treat us,” Roman said. “Kill them.”
It would be a mercy. They were monsters, what did they have left to live for? Besides, it was for the good of the people of Legacy. Maintaining a prison for Adrenalites took precious money away from the rest of Legacy. It was insane to waste so much resource — both militia and food — on beasts who killed people for no reason other than their own violent madness.
“Really, Roman? And you call them the monsters.”
“The Ancients used capital punishment.”
“On themselves,” Juliette said. “But regardless, this argument is going nowhere. Let’s get back to Candle.”
“You haven’t told me anything yet.”
“Candle’s code is EX89. He . . . well, he escaped the wind farms.”
Roman frowned. “No one escapes the wind farms.”
“No one until him.”
“Fuck! I’ve brought you dozens of rogue Adrenalites, all because I believed you could keep them contained. But you can’t even do that! If one has escaped, what’s to stop more from following suit?” Roman began to pace the room, wishing he had something to punch. “How the hell did this happen?”
“He had inside help.”
“Who would—”
“There’s a man called Ashton Spencer.”
“Who the hell is he?”
“He worked for the Ministry until he vanished a month ago, the same day EX89 escaped. Roman, calm down.”
“I will not be calm.” Roman decided that punching the wall was worth the pain. And, despite the bleeding knuckles, he did feel better for it. “I want to know why a ministry member would free an Adrenalite?”