~
Li watched them drag Moretti into the building, senseless and incapacitated. While she’d been talking to the older man – she presumed to be the Proxy – a tall figure wearing a white coat that fell to his ankles, and a surgical mask covering the majority of his face had emerged from the shadows, sneaking up behind her and sticking her with the taser-rod.
She waited until they disappeared into the building, leaving two guards to stand sentry outside. They chatted to each other; their rifles held casually at their sides. One of them pointed to the body of the man Moretti had called Deacon, the cop; the dark silhouette of his prone form a few metres from their position. They showed no sign of empathy towards the dead cop or any interest in moving the body.
Li gritted her teeth as she thought of Deacon’s family being told their loved one was nothing more than a common criminal; gunned down for his treachery against the city, when in fact, he fought – albeit unknowingly – for its freedom. She thought about leaving the scene and making for the power grid situated to the rear of the building. But the sound of the sentries cruel, derisive chuckling was more than she could take.
Li was far enough away and hidden within the shadows, to move unnoticed as far as the guards were concerned. She’d chosen that specific spot to keep an eye on proceedings unmolested. She unstrapped her sniper rifle from her back, unzipped its carry bag, and levelled its barrel; aiming towards the two fuckers stationed at the door. She peered through the scope, steadied her grip, and fired. The bullet whispered through the silencer, barely making a sound, and ripped through the furthest guard’s jugular, replacing his raucous giggles with a panicked gurgling. She smiled as he fell to the ground like a rag-doll, clutching his throat in a fruitless attempt to stem the flow of blood which spurted between the gaps in his fingers. His colleague had just enough time to glance – open-mouthed and horror-struck – in her direction before she sent a bullet through his eye, staining the wall behind him in a spray of blood. He fell back and remained still. The guard she’d shot through the neck, slowly turned his head in the direction of his comrade’s corpse before finally going still himself.
She dismounted from her bike and replaced the rifle back in its bag. She crossed the small courtyard, her boots crunching on the coarse terrain, closing the gap to the dead cop. She kept her helmet on, aware there may be cameras situated nearby. She assumed there were, so she didn’t have a whole lot of time to loiter in the vicinity.
She approached Deacon and knelt by his side. She inspected his corpse; her eyes creasing with pity. The wound to his head – a few inches above the contusion above his temple – was slowly leaking blood onto the cold ground. “Poor bastard,” she said, her voice muffled within the confines of her headgear. She grimaced as she quickly searched his pockets. She didn’t want to do it, but the thought of Inner-Sanctum goons indignantly fleecing him of his belongings forced her hand. She was surprised to find the spook hadn’t relieved the cop of his scribe. She pocketed it along with his SPD badge.
She got up and quickly ran over to the two dead guards and searched them for anything that may prove of use. She was in luck; they were in possession of a comm’s receiver – presumably to check-in with their comrades on the inside. She swiped it, along with their I.D. badges.
Using her own hardware, she patched into their security channel. Her earpiece immediately filled with chatter as she made her way towards her bike. When she passed Deacon’s body, she heard a groan. She stopped and dropped to a crouch, unholstering her gun; ready for a fight. There was no one there. She shook her head, convinced the noise must have been her imagination… when Deacon coughed.
For a few moments, she stared dumbly at the cop, half-convinced it was all in her head… before he groaned once more. She scrambled over to him, placing two fingers to his neck. There was a pulse. It was weak, but there was no denying the cop was miraculously alive. She couldn’t leave him where he was. He was in a bad way, and if she left him, he’d surely die – either from the severity of his injuries or by a NewHaven lackey when confronted with his two dead comrades.
As carefully as she could, she dragged Deacon over to her bike and positioned him so he was seated in front of her; his head resting on the space between the handlebars. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. She started the engine and made a call.
Brooks answered before the first dialling tone had finished. “Li, progress report?”
“Brooks, I’m at NewHaven. Moretti’s been taken by the Proxy.”
Brooks paused for a moment, clearly not expecting this in her progress report. “Moretti? What the fuck is going on, Li? I told you to go directly to NewHaven with the EMP’s.”
“I took a detour. You won’t believe it, but that crazy bitch took out the convoy that was headed our way. She rammed her stolen cruiser at them. She tried to escape down a side street, but it led to a dead end. They followed her and she took all eight of them out,” she said. “Then she got in a car with Hall’s friend, Deacon, and another guy who works for the Proxy.”
“The spook?” Brooks asked.
“I would assume so. She probably used the information about his stolen scribe to wrangle a meeting with Faulks. It’s the only explanation as he surely would’ve killed her.”
“And what about Hall’s friend, Deacon? Moretti said to Hall she told him to get to safety?”
“He clearly thought he could help. I followed their cruiser to NewHaven. They shot Deacon and took Moretti,” she said.
He needs urgent medical assistance. I don’t know how long he’ll last,” she said.
Brooks was silent for a moment. “That complicates things somewhat. I’ll contact our closest reconnaissance team and send them to your location.”
“I can bring him in after I’ve destroyed the cells. There’s no need to jeopardise any more of our people.”
“It’s a bit late for that now, Li. Proceed to the power grid. They won’t be long,” he said, cutting the call.
She sighed, accepting her superior’s orders. She looked down at Deacon. “If you die, don’t blame me,” she said, taking off towards the power grid.
XXXIII
Within the steel structure, Hall trailed at the rear of the group as they made their way through walkways, corridors, and a multitude of doors. With each step, she traipsed further and further into the unknown; the space between her old life as an SPD investigator, and her new one as a disgraced fugitive growing larger. Though it was dark and hard to pinpoint her position, she felt as though she was being taken underground. Their course was cast mostly in darkness – save for the scant number of lights which littered their way – and the air around her felt colder. She was on the verge of asking one of them where the fuck she was – for the umpteenth time – when they pushed through a set of double doors much larger than the rest. Her surroundings suddenly opened up exponentially as she gazed at what could only be described as a ginormous compound.
Its entire space was filled with huts and tents scattered across its entirety. Smoke billowed from a number of cooking fires, where big steel pots hung from thick metal frames; their bottoms hovering a few inches above the flames. People nearest to them stopped what they were doing to gawk at the new arrivals. Eyes peered at her from dirty, dishevelled faces, like refugees from some bygone war-zone. She noted their expressions weren’t as oppressed as was customary for refugees – though she was sure there was a pain in them all the same.
The rest of her party seemed oblivious to the stares as they moved through the shanty-community towards the largest structure at the compound’s centre; a steel panelled monstrosity which looked in better shape than the shacks surrounding it. A fence ringed around it, cordoning it off from the rest of its neighbours. Armed guards were posted at its one and only gate. Her eyes were drawn to the semi-automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. The sight made her nervous. The sentries nodded to the group, allowing them to pass the checkpoint. She was barely given a second glance.
; They climbed a set of steps which led to the main entrance of what she surmised was their headquarters. Once inside, Brooks’ scribe began to ring a comically jovial tune. He dismissed all the party, except the doctor, and excused himself, leaving her alone with his comrade.
“Would you like a drink or something to eat?” Oliver asked. “I don’t suppose you’ve had much since you were arrested.”
Hall shook her head in spite of her stomach’s disagreement. “What I want, is to know what the fuck I’m doing here?” she asked.
The doctor smiled. He nodded, as though expecting this reaction. “Well, if Moretti hadn’t intervened and brought you here, I would assume you would be currently hanging from a hook, in some disinfected room at NewHaven, at the mercy of the spook who set you up.”
The thought made her shudder. He did have a point, but she felt she was still due an explanation. “Who are you? Why are all these people down here? What’s your involvement with Moretti?”
The doctor chuckled. “No one could mistake you for not being SPD, Miss Hall.
“Cut the ‘Miss’ bullshit, it’s Veronica,” she said, growing tired of his patronising tone.
“Very well, Veronica. We are Sapien-Republic, I’ll assume you’ve heard of us from the Sanctum-One media; mindless anarchists with a penchant for troublemaking and social disorder.” He rolled his eyes, clearly finding the Sanctum-One mantra amusing.
She snorted. “Something like that.”
“Yes, well, what we really are, are freedom fighters with aspirations of setting the people of Sanctum-One free from her bonds, placed upon by our ‘glorious’ Prime.”
She gazed towards the exit. “Who are all those people?”
The doctor followed her eyes. “Like myself; enemies of the state. Each and every one of us surplus to requirements with regard to Sanctum-One… or more specifically, the ‘Inner-Sanctum’.”
She raised her eyebrows in question. “The Inner-Sanctum?”
“They are the real government of this city, secreted within the darkest corners of NewHaven, controlling every aspect of our lives. Veronica, we are not part of a glorious new age. We are, in fact, lorded over by a tyrant, obsessed with control,” he said.
“There are so many people out there… why hasn’t their absence been noted? Investigated?”
He sighed, taking a seat. He gestured for her to do likewise, but she shook her head. “Isn’t it obvious? Their names have been deleted from the rolls. That’s where Moretti comes into things.”
“How? What has she got to do with secret cabals and conspiracy theories? From what I’ve picked up, she stumbled across something she shouldn’t have and her son was murdered for it. Then she went on a six-month rampage, seeking revenge, I’ll assume. I was just starting to get to the truth when I found my captain and my partner dead and got screwed over by that fucking spook for it.”
Oliver leaned forward. “Moretti’s son was murdered because she stumbled upon the truth, Veronica. She found out something that, if it got out, would flip the government on its head. You’ll know, from your tenacious police work, she’s ex-SPD.”
Hall nodded. “I found a trace of blood at the Trammel building and ran it through the SPD database.”
Oliver narrowed his eyes. “So, you’ll know which department she worked for?”
His question snapped something into place in her mind. Her eyes roamed towards the door once more. “Missing persons.”
~
Through the gaps of the chain-link fence, Lex watched the shuttle-pod pull up outside of the department of citizen relations; a drab, dilapidated building that looked in serious need of some restoration work. Its windows were fitted with bars, awash with rust. The once-smooth exterior was covered in cracks and gaping holes, exposing the brickwork underneath. At face value, it was uninteresting in every sense, save one: the armed personnel manning its doors and waiting for whoever was inside the pod. It struck Lex as odd because the purpose of the building wasn’t military or financial – basically anything that would require armed security. It was a station house for the poorest of Sanctum-One. A personal project of Prime Vonn, no less, used as a rehabilitation centre; treating those unfortunate enough to seeks its sanctuary and help them kick whatever habit they were into, or lift them from financial ruin – self-inflicted or not.
She watched as a group of people – varying in age, sex, and ethnicity – emerged from the shuttle-pod. Aside from their many differences, they all had one thing in common; which was their state of cleanliness and general dishevelment. An elderly woman stumbled as she disembarked, meriting a kick to the midsection by one of the guards. A young man – no older than twenty – tried to intervene. He grabbed at the guard laying into the woman. The guard stopped his assault and swung his baton into the young man’s face. He fell to the ground, curling into a ball as the guard hit him again and again. All the while, the elderly woman screamed and begged for him to stop. But he didn’t. He pushed the woman back, sending her crashing against the side of the shuttle as he resumed his beating. Lex could hear the crack of bones and the squelch of blood slapping against the metal of his weapon.
She felt sick; an impotent bystander, unable to prevent the horror before her. The voice of her captain, ordering her to stand down and drop her investigation into the multitudes of missing citizens ignored by the authorities, clawed its way to the forefront of her mind. “There’s nothing going on, Lex,” he’d said. “All you’re doing is stepping on toes you don’t want to be stepping on. Please, for the sake of your family, desist from this obsession. Down and outs go missing all the time. You know why? Because they don’t want to be found.”
Her captain’s words had troubled her. His superiors had clearly been made aware of her activities and were putting pressure on him to veer her off her current path. Gazing across the courtyard – helpless at preventing a young citizen’s murder – she resolved to find out the truth and bring those to justice no matter how high up the chain of command it went.
~
“When we found Moretti – floating face down in the water of the harbour – we wondered why the Proxy had personally risked killing her son, and almost her. I suspect he actually thought he’d killed her that night. Through underhand techniques, and a little technological ingenuity, executed by yours truly, we ascertained information on her SPD activities on the run-up to that terrible night, and why she’d garnered such wrath from as high up as the Proxy.”
Hall’s brows furrowed. She thought of Moretti, the image of her punching Brooks in the derelict car park. “Why didn’t you tell her you knew the identity of her son’s killer?”
Oliver had the good grace to look ashamed. He grimaced. “It’s complicated. Brooks was the one who’d actually recognised him at the harbour. He told me, and only me, after we got her back to safety. For years we’ve been unable to infiltrate NewHaven. We’ve barely been able to cause any damage outside organising ‘peaceful’ protests. We took Moretti’s lifeless body out of the harbour and back here, where I personally treated her. As you’re no doubt aware, her mental state isn’t exactly stable. She escaped and for six months...” He trailed off. “Well, I don’t need to tell you what you already know about that. After she leapt off the bridge, we found her and took her in. We were just beginning to gain her trust. Without her, we have no chance of exposing the Inner-Sanctum. In truth, we were scared that if we told her we knew all along, she’d run.”
Hall laughed, bitterly. “I think that happened anyway. You still had no right to keep it to yourself.”
Oliver looked as though he was about to argue, but in his heart, he knew she was right. “I know. It was stupid. You must understand, we’re desperate. You’ve seen the people out there. We care what happens to them. And we share Moretti’s resolve for getting justice for her son.”
He closed his eyes, as though attempting to banish the memory from his thoughts. “They took the poor child’s body and dumped it in an alleyway, as though it were trash,” he s
aid, slamming his fist onto the table. “I can almost stomach the deaths from either side of this conflict, as most who participate know the risks. But when children are slaughtered in its name…” He grimaced, unable to finish as he choked on his rage. “If only there’d been some way our paths could’ve crossed before they got to her…”
Looking down at the doctor, who suddenly looked tired and weary, she felt for him. She took a seat opposite him and placed a hand over his. “It wasn’t your fault and I can see that you and Brooks are up against it.” As if the last few days had been hard to process, Hall felt as though the rabbit hole she been hurtling down, since her stand-off with Moretti, had become that little bit deeper. “What did she find out that had the Proxy so worried he had to deal with her himself?”
~
Using the darkness, and sparsely lit courtyard to her advantage, she’d pursued the procession into the building. When she’d slipped through the front door, gun raised, expecting to be met by armed guards, she was surprised to find the small vestibule devoid of human activity.
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