Neon Revenge

by Graeme J Greenan

  Lex was alone – or alone as she could be cooped up in a huge underground hanger full of people. She could feel two pairs of eyes, boring into her back as she sat in front of an old oil drum; used as a makeshift fire. The flames flickered and danced above the rim, the wood crackled, sending puffs of fiery fragments into the air every so often. She wondered where they got the wood, then surmised it was probably from the deeper parts of the Freedom Park.

  Regardless of the fire, she still felt cold.

  She pulled the blanket tight around her body. She was still garbed in the boiler-suit – which wasn’t designed for keeping a naked body warm. She was growing more and more irritated with Doctor Oliver, as she’d thought he would have turned up with her suit by now. For all she knew, it was still lying in a state of disrepair, or simply dumped into the nearest bin – the promise of a new outfit an excuse to prolong her stay.

  She sighed, frustrated with her current predicament; waiting on the whims of others in this oversized bomb shelter was preventing her from her work up top; in the city. It wasn’t what she’d envisaged would happen when she’d started her mission.

  She silently observed as the compound’s residents settled in for the night; huddled in their own little groups around flaming drums of their own. She felt selfish for hogging one all to herself… though it wasn’t all her own doing. She’d invited a few passers-by to join her; to share the heat. But each time, she’d been politely refused – from those who weren’t too scared to utter a word. They feared her, it was clear on the furtive glances in her direction; the quiet whisperings behind her back when they thought she was out of earshot. She didn’t blame them, of course. As much as she’d mastered the art of indifference – her new lack of empathy – she was surprised to find herself hurt from their treatment; their reluctance to even come within a few feet of her. It was a feeling she thought she’d buried for good.

  I’m Lex now; ‘the woman’. That part of me died with Julian.

  “Can I join you,” a voice called, snapping her from her reverie.

  She instinctively sprang to her feet, her posture coiled like a spring, ready to strike. That’s why they won’t come near you, Lex. She relaxed at the sight of one of the guards Brooks had posted with keeping an eye on her – the older one; the one who’d sniggered at her waspish comment to his partner. She looked past him. His partner was standing on a raised ridge of broken concrete, a few feet above her position; his weapon lingering in her direction. “Will your partner be alright with that?” she asked, a little more tartly than she’d intended.

  The guard followed her gaze, seemingly oblivious to her blunt tone. “He’s quite happy where he is. Me, on the other hand, I’d rather sit closer to the heat. This place gets mighty cold at night.”

  Lex looked up. “How can you tell? He seems to do nothing but scowl.”

  “You get used to it,” he said, chuckling. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the fire.

  “Be my guest,” she said, retaking her seat.

  He nodded and took a seat next to her – out of arms reach, she noticed. She smiled.

  “Something funny?” the guard asked.

  “Never mind.” She pointed a thumb to the guard’s partner. “I suppose your partner still thinks I’m a danger?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “If I was going to cause anyone any harm, wouldn’t you think I would’ve done it already?” she asked.

  The guard shrugged. “I’m not sure, I don’t know anything about you… aside from.” He looked up. “You know… your antics up top.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Or he thinks I might escape.” She raised her hand to the rest of the compound. “It’s not like I’d be able to find my way out of this warren.”

  The guard looked dubious. “I may not know you personally, but I don’t believe for a second you would find it difficult to find a way out of the compound.” He arced his head towards the other guard. “He’s my son. He’s young and keen to impress Brooks. He’s just being cautious is all, don’t take it personally.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. She chose not to answer his previous statement about her not being able to find a way out of the compound. During her ‘tour’ with Brooks, he’d taken her through different parts of the compound. They’d traversed through the ventilation systems, water filtration and waste rooms, and finally ending the tour in the recreational halls. Several avenues for escape had become evident to her. Brooks hadn’t spoken much outside of explaining details on whatever room or hall they were in. She was relieved, as she’d expected him to spend the entire time convincing her to stay. She couldn’t help but be slightly impressed by Sapien-Republic’s operation, her initial judgement proving premature.

  She was broken from her reverie as the guard outstretched his arm towards her. “I’m Jackson,” he said. “Francis Jackson.” He nodded to his son. “That’s Billy.”

  She looked down at his hand, crisscrossed with more than a few scars. She reluctantly removed her hand from the confines of her blanket and shook it briefly. “I’m Lex.”

  He nodded, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Pleased to meet you, Lex. I like the name… better than calling you ‘the woman’.”

  Lex shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. How long have you and your son been down here?”

  “Since the beginning,” Jackson said, the pride evident in his voice. “We were one of the first to follow Brooks and the doctor.”

  “And how long ago was that? How did you find this place?”

  Jackson blew out a breath. “Going on ten years… damn, is that right? Yeah, about ten years. I didn’t find this place, myself; that was down to Brooks and the doctor. Both me and my son found ourselves under the unfortunate scrutiny of NewHaven. I used to work in analysis, citizen membership and populace control. One day I put in a report to my superiors about the numbers not adding up. Thought it was a simple clerical error. The next thing I know, NewHaven spooks are banging on my door and hauling me and my family out the door.”

  He shuffled along the concrete block, closing the gap between them. He’d clearly made his mind up with regard to her threat, which she appreciated. “I don’t want to say this too loud… you know, with Billy being within earshot. It’s not good to remind him of the events that transpired that fucking day. Brooks and the doctor had just begun their purpose. We were the first citizens Sapiens-Republic rescued. They caused a distraction, enough to catch the spooks off-guard. Me and Billy got out, but my wife…” He fell silent, unable to get the rest out. He grimaced, shaking his head. “Anyway, we managed to escape. Brooks brought us down here and we’ve been here ever since.”

  She didn’t really know what to say, deciding it would probably be insensitive to probe into what happened to Jackson’s wife – as it was obvious. “What about Brooks? How did this all start with him?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Ah, Brooks. Well, I don’t think he’ll mind me telling you this. He used to work for NewHaven – intelligence. He worked a small team infiltrating possible terror threats.”

  “He was a spook?” she asked, unable to keep the amusement from her voice.

  Jackson chuckled. “I know, the irony isn’t lost on me either. It was the reason he was able to get me and Billy out.” He paused, regaining his train of thought. “Tell me, Lex, have you heard of a man called Aaron Trent?” She shook her head. “I’d be surprised if you had. Trent was a low-ranking member of the Sanctum-One council, at NewHaven. He worked tirelessly behind the scenes on civil rights, slowly gaining support within NewHaven to reorganise the hierarchy of our society. In many ways he is the true father of our movement – he started it all. It was his idea that instead of our lives being governed by a Prime, it should instead be governed by a council, with each member having equal control of power.”

  Lex scoffed. “Doesn’t sound so different to the Prime’s Inner-Sanctum.”

  Jackson shook his head in a way he would a child who hadn’t quite learned the
lesson. “The difference is that the council members would be nominated and voted in by the public, only staying in office for a maximum of five years.”

  It was an interesting idea, she thought. “So, how does Brooks come into this?” she asked, wondering where he was going with this.

  “Trent was Brooks’ father-in-law.”

  Lex raised her eyebrows, intrigued. Jackson continued.

  “Fearing Trent had a member of his family firmly rooted within the intelligence core, the Proxy began to fear for his position; becoming concerned with Trent’s growing influence. Having a man on the inside – privy to a lot of sensitive information – was a risk too far for our ‘glorious’ second-in-command. So, he tasked Brooks to persuade Trent to attend a meeting with the Proxy and several members of the Inner-Sanctum, to discuss his proposals. It was a test of Brooks’ loyalty to the state over his family. Brooks succeeded in bringing Trent to the meeting. Once ensconced in the Proxy’s office… things turned for the worst.

  They dragged both of them down to the Proxy’s secret bunker, accessed from his office, where Trent was worked on by the bleeders.” Jackson shuddered at the thought. Lex, on the other hand, knew all too well what that entailed. She absentmindedly trailed a hand down her arm, knowing where each and every scar was and how she’d got them. Jackson noticed, but chose not to comment.

  “After they’d got all the information they could; details of all those working close to Trent, the Proxy ordered Brooks to kill his father-in-law.”

  Lex slowly raised her hand to her mouth, disgusted. “And did he?”

  Jackson’s pained look said it all. “He had no choice.”

  Lex slapped her thigh. “What do you mean ‘had no choice’? Of course he had a choice, for fuck’s sake.”

  Jackson looked at her with pity. “Brooks was handed a gun and told if he didn’t, his wife and two daughters would be brought to the bleeders.”

  Cold rage burned through her veins. She was beginning to see what drove Brooks and Sapien-Republic. The Inner-Sanctum were a disease in need of being scourged from existence. “What happened to his family?” she asked through gritted teeth, suspecting what the answer was going to be.

  “After he killed Trent, Brooks was followed home by the Proxy’s second – a man by the name of Marr. Brooks got home to find his wife and daughters had already been murdered. Before he could shed a tear for them, investigators from the SPD turned up, presumably called in ahead by Marr. Brooks just managed to escape, going on the run until he found this place.”

  Lex looked down at her hands. They were balled tightly into fists. She was starting to see this place in a new light. When she was first brought here, she assumed no one could compare their pain to her own. The reality couldn’t have been further from the truth. Looking to the faces of those congregating in their little groups – laughing, talking, enjoying the solace of each other’s company – she didn’t see firebrands and anarchists, she saw refugees; persecuted because they didn’t fit the mould imposed by the Inner-Sanctum. She suspected each and every one of them had a similar tale to Jackson’s… or her own.

  She suddenly felt insignificant, but at the same time, she felt a kindred spirit with these people – who’d suffered as she had.

  Can I trust these people to help me rid Sanctum-one of the Inner-sanctum and its toxic influence? They may even be able to help me find Julian’s murderer.

  Then the face of little Kat flooded to her mind. Taking on the Inner-Sanctum was dangerous. Could she risk innocent lives such as hers, just to satisfy her thirst for blood and revenge? She grew frustrated. When she was hunting members of the Inner-Sanctum, it had been simple. The sudden intertwining of Sapien-Republic’s fight with her own was muddying the waters, filling her head with uncertainty.

  She looked up to the ‘ceiling’ of the compound, still amazed it lay beneath the city. It posed a question. “You don’t just ‘find’ this place, Jackson. Someone must have known of this place for some time—”

  “—They did, or to be specific, I did,” a voice called out, interrupting them.

  Lex and Jackson turned to find the doctor, standing beside Billy. He looked down at them; a sad smile etched across his features. “I’m an old friend of Jonathon’s. I knew his family...” He trailed off for a moment, gently shaking his head. “I kept him hidden until the time was right to bring him down here. My father kept old maps of the previous city; the city Sanctum-One was built on.” He chuckled, climbing down the ridge. “If NewHaven had ever found out my father had them in his possession… I shudder to think.”

  “So, what are your plans for the Proxy?” She pointed to Jackson. “I admire your tactics to get me to stay.”

  “All will be explained in good time, my dear.” He held up something wrapped in thick blankets. “Your combat-suit. I’ve made some adjustments. Also, I’ve made you a new eyepatch… well, it’s more of a mask, now. It’s the reason I’ve taken so long. If you would accompany me, Brooks and I are about to have dinner and we’d be delighted if you could join us.”

  Lex stood, interested. “How could I refuse?”

  XXVIII

  Everything was a blur when Hall opened her eyes. Her surroundings were dull and tinged with blue, interrupted intermittently by sudden flashes of bright light which hurt her eyes. She jostled back and forth as though invisible hands surrounded her, taking it in turns to push her in different directions; like being in a boat in a rough swell – it did her immense feeling of nausea no favours. Her head ached, which was exasperated by the constant droning noise that seemed to come from everywhere. She tried to raise her hands to touch her throbbing temples, but found that they were secured behind her back and fixed to the seat she was sitting on – chains presumably, as she heard the distinct sound of them clinking as she moved.

  Her body was slouched forward at an odd angle. She suddenly heard voices; hushed tones a few feet in front of her. She looked up; her neck – tender and sore – added its complaint to the cacophony coursing through her body. She could make out two dark shapes amidst the blue; one was significantly larger than the other. Most of the noise – from what her scrambled brains could make out – came from the larger of the two shapes; louder and more aggressive than the softer tones of the smaller shape. She thought she recognised them.

  She tried to speak, but all that came out was an incoherent moan. Her lips were sticky, resisting to come apart from each other. She stretched her mouth in an effort to separate them. She instantly regretted it. A sharp pain lanced across her mouth, quickly followed by wetness which had an acrid, coppery taste to it. The two shapes ceased making their noise. The larger one drew closer. He reeked of onions and garlic; the stench causing her gorge to rise in her throat. She recoiled in a bid to get away from the putrid aroma, but she was locked firmly in place.

  She felt a small prick on her arm. The veil of distortion, muddying her senses, ebbed, before finally falling away. Her whole body tensed, as what felt like electricity, passed violently through her. She screamed in agony, bucking in her fixed position, twisting uncontrollably in her chair until the pain dissipated to a tolerable throb. Her head felt like it had been squeezed into a helmet designed for a child. The sensation made her want to vomit.

  “Wakey, wakey,” a cruel voice called, jovially.

  She sought out the sudden call, snapping her head in its direction which sent another wave of nausea to wash over her. This time she hadn’t the strength to keep the bile at bay as she vomited.

  “Aw, for fuck’s sake,” the cruel voice boomed in disgust. “It’s a good thing we’ve not got long to go.”

  She remained hunched over until she’d heaved her last, her stomach spasming uncontrollably. She looked up to see the familiar face of Charlie Deacon. He looked at her with a mixture of pity and anger; his eyes boring into her own; his brows knitted. Sitting beside Charlie, was the source of the cruel voice. She finally recognised where she knew it from. It was his partner – the officer whom she’d gi
ven a dressing down to on the Freedom Bridge – though it had been merely days ago, So much had happened, to Hall, it felt more like weeks. He was waving a long tube in his right hand and smiling; his yellowed teeth showing between moist, bulbous lips in a malevolent sneer.

  “Smelling salts for the new age,” he said, appraising the tube with mock interest. “One jab of this could wake the dead.”

  “Where am I being taken to?” she asked Charlie, ignoring his partner.

  But his partner wasn’t finished. He drew his other hand back and slapped her hard across the face. Her head clattered against the steel-caged partition. She cried out in agony. She thought she heard Charlie shouting at his partner, but the blow had set her wits into a spin-cycle. She groaned, using all her will to stay conscious.

  “…fuck off, Charlie,” he said, grabbing Hall roughly by the hair and pulling her as close as her bonds would allow her. “Don’t you think I’ve forgotten what happened on the bridge, you little bitch. I’m going to ask that spook if I can be present during your time at NewHaven.”