The Enhanced Series Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  I know my limits, and I’m just about reaching them.

  146

  I turn my mind off once more as we reach the end of Brick Lane. Under the cover of my contact lenses and cap, I keep my head low under orders from my brother as we creep off through the streets in what appears to be a preordained direction.

  We’re not travelling the same path we took to get here. We’re heading northwards, veering east. It would appear our trip to Outer Haven isn’t yet concluded.

  Clearly, Zander has more work to do. Bringing me here was just phase one.

  I don’t get a chance to ask him where we’re headed until we take refuge in an alleyway near to one of the central routes on the Conveyor Line. Scouting from the shadows, Zander needs to make sure the coast is clear before we hop aboard.

  During the lull, I question what’s next.

  “Eastern quarter,” he says, without offering further explanation. “We’ll circle around the Conveyor Line and then work through the industrial districts.”

  I don’t pose any questions, especially regarding the safety of us continuing to stay within the city limits. My brother knows his stuff and I’m just along for the ride.

  After a few moments of scouting, he deems the Conveyor Line ready for use. As we work out onto the street, it becomes evident that there are enough people around to offer plenty of cover here. Still, the numbers of security personnel are also fairly high, working around in their patrols and perched in their lookout points at places that most normal people wouldn’t see.

  We both can, of course. Our Hawk-eyes are quite sufficient to catch the tiniest bit of movement up in the rafters, to spot the City Guards positioned at various points across the lofty reaches of the city, surveying it all from on high.

  Then there are the drones, which offer a similar function. They’re more visible, buzzing around the streets a few dozen feet off the ground, a constant hum of activity that, for the most part, just blurs into the white noise of the city, and gets gobbled up by the bright neon lights that cast their glow upon the western districts.

  Many are postal drones, swishing here and there and delivering messages and other physical items. They’re nothing to worry about.

  Many others, however, are charged with the task of scanning the streets below for some sight of known agitators and insurgents. I am certainly within that number, so the contact lenses are fairly useful in shielding my eyes. The cap too, set low on my forehead and shadowing my face, is doing plenty to shield me.

  Zander doesn’t need to worry quite so much. His jaunts into Haven have exclusively come under the protection of cowls and hoods and other such items that have made him inconspicuous. And while Cromwell knows of his existence, he isn’t aware of what he looks like.

  Really, it’s far more likely that I’ll be spotted than him.

  Yet, those worries don’t seem to bother my brother. It’s as though he’s got some strange foresight, some ability to glance into the future and determine that we’re going to be just fine out here in the heartland of the enemy.

  The heartland of the enemy…what a strange thought given this used to be my home.

  He doesn’t have such an ability, of course. No one does. Yet, what he does have is a team of highly skilled intelligence technicians at his beck and call, working night and day to determine the safest possible routes through the city; surveying security patrols and drone movements; enabling us to sneak first to the west, and now to the east, without being spotted and detained.

  It gives us the upper hand as we move to the Conveyor Line, jump aboard, and cling to the poles as it cuts a path through the inner district of the west, then north, and finally brings us to the east.

  Stepping off at a predestined junction, we slip into the crowd and continue our path towards the towering structures that dominate the region. A region I know well from my outings here when I’d climb atop the tallest warehouse I could find and gaze from my high vantage towards the mountains in the northwest.

  Now, of course, I’ve been a hell of a lot higher. And a hell of a lot closer to those mountains too. The simple act of sitting up there, with my regular, Unenhanced eyes, gazing out at the distant mountains and forests, seems so innocent now.

  Nothing’s innocent anymore.

  The warehouses remain in operation for the most part. Despite everything that’s going on in the city, production continues through necessity, and it would appear that subsidies of clean water are being provided for those who operate here.

  It makes sense I guess. The residents of Inner Haven rely on the food production that goes on here, and so aren’t exactly going to let that be affected by the state of suffering in the rest of Outer Haven.

  Passing by a couple of warehouses, I get a glance inside the walls and security fences. Within, I note the strange mood that appears to have engulfed the place. There’s an order and rhythm to the workers that sets my teeth on edge.

  Yes, it could just be that such people are efficient at what they do. But, in my mind, I can’t help but imagine that many, if not all, have already been reconditioned. That I’m looking upon an army of slaves, no longer free to think and act as they might like, bound by the reprogramming that Cromwell has put them through.

  Perhaps that’s true, perhaps not. Maybe the workers in these plants and factories and warehouses have always been those taken in and reconditioned by the Consortium. It wouldn’t surprise me at all. Tucked away here in the east, hidden from the lively residential regions to the west and south, few would even know.

  Or care.

  We continue on in silence, moving further east, further back towards the quieter regions that always populate the perimeter of Outer Haven. The entire time, Zander continues to move with total concentration, a state of mind that has me keeping my tongue at bay and not bothering him with useless queries.

  His eyes stay narrow as we go, our path uninterrupted. His men have done their work well, and his ability to recall the tiniest of details, and his supreme knowledge of the streets and their secret paths, have allowed us to arrive without any further hindrance.

  Arriving at a factory that remains in operation, pumping foul air into the sky and clattering with an endless cacophony of metallic noises within, we work our way to the rear, sneaking through narrow lanes and reaching what appears to be a barred and unused door.

  It looks so weather-beaten and derelict that anyone would suspect it hasn’t been used in many years, covered in rust and with vines and weeds creeping around at its base. Reaching it, Zander does a final check to make sure we’re in the clear, before moving his hand right past the door handle and towards its old façade.

  He knocks, quietly and with a distinct pattern, on the rusted metal. Beyond, over the sound of the factory, I hear the patter of his knock descend down into the earth, echoing beneath the factory and into some subterranean place.

  We wait a few minutes in silence. I wonder just what’s going on before, suddenly and to my complete surprise, a sound of grinding brick and cement issues from the left, a metre or two away from the door.

  I let out a little huff of confusion and see my brother turn to me with a grin.

  Then, the brick wall to the side of the door belches out a little puff of smoke and opens up just a crack. And from that crack, a voice comes.

  “Zander?”

  “It’s me,” says my brother.

  The door opens further, moving inward, and the face of Rycard appears.

  “Are they all here?” comes my brother’s voice.

  Rycard nods.

  “Good. Then let’s go.”

  We step forward and into the darkness. Rycard gently shuts the secret door behind us, and I look upon an old metal staircase, descending into the depths at a steep and vertigo-inducing angle.

  Following my brother, I keep my hand locked tight to one of the cold, metal railings to stop from tripping – at regular intervals, the stairs are uneven, bent by time – and even force Rycard to reach out a hand
to steady me at one point as we descend.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  My voice echoes into the darkness, replacing the sound of my heavy breathing.

  “A meeting point,” whispers Zander in reply. “It’s a place that gives us access to Inner Haven.”

  “You can get to Inner Haven from down here?”

  I’m surprised, but I shouldn’t be. On several occasions, the Nameless have crept into Inner Haven unseen. It would appear that this is where they do it from.

  My question doesn’t get a reply. Just a nod from ahead as we continue down, going deeper until the basement walls of the factory turn to earth and rock, and we enter into less formally built rooms and caverns that have clearly been cut for a single purpose – infiltration.

  Now, the sounds of the factory have been dulled above, dampened by the thousands of tons of rock that creak and groan above us. Instead of the obvious assault to the ears, however, there’s a constant rumble, an incessant earthquake that causes the earth to shiver and sprinkle down little helpings of dust and grit from the ceiling above.

  It doesn’t feel altogether secure, and the sight of the odd bundle of rocks to the left or right as we move down the passage suggests that cave-ins are a regular hazard down here.

  There’s one in particular that we have to climb through.

  Ahead, the tunnel beneath the factory seems to end abruptly. As we get nearer, I notice that it has been blocked by rocks, the ceiling above having dropped its heavy load on the path below.

  Within the blockage, however, a small gap has been fashioned by those who navigate this perilous route. It’s barely big enough for a large man to work his frame through, with a few rocks moved to the side to provide passage through its dangerous jaws.

  Being the dainty young thing that I am, I have less trouble than the others at sneaking through. Someone like Drum, however, would never make it.

  My heart burns as I crawl through the gap. Each time some large piece of machinery in the factory above has a little grumble, the entire place shakes with a little more force. If that happens at the wrong time, and a single rock shifts out of place, game over.

  No one’s powers, not even Zander’s, could stop you from being crushed by the onslaught.

  Reaching the other side, I take a heavy breath as I drop my feet back onto the floor and turn around to help Rycard shift his frame through. As he exits the tiny space, I turn and see a gathering of what appears to be explosives set on the right and left, joined together by a thin wire.

  Zander sees me looking.

  “Failsafe,” he mutters. “You see that button…”

  I look to the wall and see a little button at the top of a wire, linked to the explosives.

  “Yeah.”

  “If ever you’re being chased down here, give it a tap. The entire chamber we’ve just passed through will collapse behind you. Of course, it’s a last resort sort of thing, so hopefully won’t ever have to be used…”

  “And this little gap? You made it yourselves?”

  Zander nods.

  “You can never be too careful.”

  Yeah, perhaps not. But somehow I can’t but think that having explosives down here in such an unstable passage is a recipe for disaster.

  But what do I know?

  Relieved to get through, we continue on and soon reach a door. Once again, Zander goes through the necessary protocols, tapping away with the secret knock, and the door unbolts and opens up to receive us.

  My eyes take in the scene.

  Several people stand in discussion around a table. The walls are half rock, half brick and mortar, and partially hidden by boxes and other supplies of arms and armour. The ceiling hangs low, uneven in places and fixed with random light fittings that allow those without Hawk abilities to see down here in the darkness.

  There’s a discussion going on, a tense one. It doesn’t seem to end with our arrival, the half dozen or so people around the table still talking in hushed but intense tones.

  We walk in, past the main guard who gives us entry, and Zander turns to me.

  “Brie,” he says, “there are some people I’d like you to meet.”

  147

  The people around the table continue to talk as Zander runs through the introductions. Only when each are required to meet me do they stop and stretch out a quick hand, raise a smile, and then turn their eyes back to their work.

  First up is a man I recognise from the previous night: Beckett. I never got to officially meet him during the meeting for all the leaders of the Nameless.

  Gruff and only partially groomed, he turns his sleek eyes to mine and offers a strong hand. A single shake is all he needs. He seems like that kind of guy. Efficient. Impatient.

  “Beckett is our most senior commander in the field,” says Zander. “He’s a powerful hybrid. Part Bat, part Hawk, part Sniffer, part Dasher. He’s almost got the full set.”

  “Wow,” I remark. “So, your parents were both hybrids too?”

  He nods sharply.

  “Father was a Hawker – Hawk and Dasher. Mother was a Sniffer and Bat. We’ve got some stupid amalgamation for that too.”

  He doesn’t tell me what it is.

  “So you’ve got pretty good senses then,” I say, stating the damn obvious. “I guess that’s useful in the field?”

  “Very,” he says. Or, growls really. His voice seems to be a perpetual bark, a symptom of his job as well, I suspect, as a lifetime spent with a cigarette in his mouth, of which there is one now.

  I guess being a Sniffer, I’d have thought smoking would be a no-no given his heightened sense of smell. Clearly not.

  “Beckett leads much of our forward military efforts,” says Zander.

  Beckett huffs.

  “Military efforts. More like covert operations. That’s all we ever do. We don’t have the manpower for military efforts.”

  “He also takes some getting used to,” grins Zander. “And he never, ever smiles.”

  Beckett’s scowl intensifies, and so does Zander’s grin.

  “Anyway, this here’s Kira,” continues Zander, moving to the next attendee at this secret meeting. “You’ll have seen her last night too.”

  “Sure,” I say, extending a hand.

  Kira turns up from the table and takes it with a smile. Like Beckett, she’s got extremely sleek eyes, green as the toxic mist that continually assaults us, and red hair that makes her stand right out from the crowd. You’d think that wouldn’t be a good thing given her vocation as a spy.

  Still, she has a range of abilities that make her extremely efficient at her job. Dasher, Hawk, Bat and Sniffer by all accounts. An equally awesome set as Beckett.

  “So, you’re the eyes and ears out in Inner Haven, right?” I ask.

  “That’s my role,” she answers with her smooth, velvety voice. There’s a joviality to her that I enjoy. A far cry from Beckett, that’s for sure. “I’m good at sneaking around, and can see pretty far. The best eyes in the business,” she adds with a little prideful smirk.

  “Debatable,” says Zander provocatively.

  “You wanna go, do you?” she asks.

  Beckett raises his eyes and shakes his head. Clearly this is an on-going point of contention around here.

  “Hey,” adds Kira, turning again to me. “Maybe little sis will give us all a run for our money soon enough. We girls have the better eyesight, you know.”

  I like her immediately.

  “Totally agree,” I say.

  “And what would you know?” asks Zander. “You’re just a toddler....”

  Both Kira and I glare at him. He’s forced to stand down.

  “Nice to meet you, though, Brie,” says Kira before we move on. “Good to have another girl about the place.”

  As she speaks, her eyes switch ever-so-subtly towards another girl a little way down the table. Girl, though, would be entirely inappropriate as a description of her.

  Female, yes. Girl, absolutely not.


  She’s colossal. Surely imbued with some old Brute blood. Not the size of a proper male Brute, or even Drum, but for a woman, she’s enormous. A towering six and a half feet at least and, if I was to compare her to anyone by her general size, it would probably be Rhoth.

  She’s similarly structured too, her shoulders broad and trunk wide, with an aesthetic look to compliment her intimidating size. Her hair is long on top but shaven at the sides, flowing back and stuck close to her scalp by some sort of ointment. It’s a fairly bright blonde, almost white, and there’s a scar ranging from her chin to her left eye that suggests she, like many others here, have been in the wars.

  It’s to her we go next, Zander approaching with a little more formality.

  “Brie, I’d like you to meet Freya,” he says. “She’s our resident explosives and munitions expert. She can get us anything we need, given the time.”

  A set of meaty fingers come my way, gobbling up my little hand. Her shake is almost sufficient to lift me right off the floor.

  “Good to meet you, Brie,” comes a deep voice that has no place outside of a man. She smiles through etiquette, revealing a poor set of teeth. They come and go in a flash and her stern, austere façade returns.

  “So, um, are you a hybrid too?” I ask.

  I can’t help but do so with a few more nerves scattered among my words.

  She shakes her head.

  “My father was part Brute,” she says. “My mother, for all I know, was just a woman. I never met her, but have no other powers like the rest of this lot. So, she must have been just a normal woman.”

  I don’t pry. I want to, given my natural and sometimes overbearing inclination to seek the truth, but don’t. Not with such a sensitive subject. And not with such a formidable woman.

  “She’s a good soldier,” says Zander. He clearly has some respect for her. “Probably the best I’ve worked with, given she’s got no useful enhancements for combat.”

  “You mean, Brute blood isn’t useful?” I query. “I thought it made you tougher. You know, tougher skin, thicker skull, etcetera.”