‘I can’t believe this.’ Indy hailed to Felix and Red as John made his way around them towards the back of the suit.
‘I’m going to close the Old Market for a few months. Does sod all business. Down here we’ll keep this stuff safe.’ Red announced.
‘You’re not using any of this.’ Felix exhausted firmly to his son.
‘Yes alright, old man. Keep ya beak out.’ Red replied, tired of his dad’s constant berating.
Indy smiled at the two of them, unaware that John behind them all inserted something into the back of the suit. A small sealed plastic bag which slid undetected underneath the rear lining of the suit. Red spotted it through the corner of his eye as John gave him a look of recognition. Walking away from the suit. John stood to Indy and looked him in the eyes.
‘So... the city is coming undone. And you have a band of morons at your side. What do you want to do?’ John asked the proclaimed hero. Indy stood amongst them appreciative of both their belief and gamble in him. He positioned himself adjacent to the suit, resting his hand on the chest plate. Hades wasn’t just a product of his disillusionment anymore. It was a shared purpose.
He turned to them all, definitive in his rhetoric.
‘We find Molar.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Inside a quiet independent bookstore, Eva stood at the back of a small queue waiting to be served. Her boyfriend stood beside her with an unease. Distracted by the terrorist event that had struck the city the previous week. She could see his mind was elsewhere and with such struggled to identify a suitable time for her looming announcement. Indy clocked her teetering. She clung to the textbooks under her arm, almost hiding several amongst a bunch of fiction.
‘Cardiorespiratory Physiotherapy. That’s pretty intense.’ he mentioned, observing the title of the thick middle book. ‘Are you going to go for that Masters you were always talking about?’
‘Er yes. I was going to talk to you about it. I’ve been offered a new job, in Amsterdam. They will sponsor my education. I could never afford it otherwise.’ She revealed.
‘Wait a second. You’re leaving?’
‘This city, it’s got too crazy, Indy. I mean what happened last week. You were right.’
‘Don’t suppose you would rather move to a tiny Pacific island?’ Indy tried.
‘No, this job, it’s everything I could want. That masters is so expensive in the UK. There they would subsidise the cost, and the University of Amsterdam is amazing.’
‘Well then. I’m happy for you. I think it’s great.’
‘You could come with me. Freelance there. You’ve always talked about leaving, now you can.’ She enthusiastically propositioned.
‘That could work.’ He agreed, knowing while Amsterdam struggled to compete with Fiji. It was still better than Kingsland.
Just them and a single buyer in front in the queue. Eva merged forward as the purchaser ahead gathered her bags and turned to exit. To Indy’s surprise and mild dismay, Dr Wilton looked at them with a wide-eyed look.
‘Indy.’ she said mildly formal.
‘Dr. Wilton. Eva this is Dr Wilton, she’s er, my therapist.’ Indy conceded, surprising the doctor by his candour.
‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Wilton greeted Eva, who replied with a welcoming smile.
‘Nice to meet you. Indy keeps silent about those sorts of things.’
Eva informed, leaving all bashful of speaking.
‘Well, it was nice to see you, take care.’ She said, exiting the store. Eva studied the doctor as she placed her items on the till’s hardwood surface.
‘She’s younger than I thought she would be.’
‘She was friends with John once upon a time.’ Indy explained.
‘Oh, I have my loyalty card.’ Eva said to the teller with her trademark pleasantry.
As she reached into her purse, she heard two sharp, violent bangs echoing from the street. Indy turned to the shop window, watching people begin to flee in a single direction.
‘Were those gunshots?’ Eva said nervously. Indy stepped away from the till before a third gunshot caused them all to duck down.
‘Get behind the till.’ Indy pleaded, watching both Eva and the teller retreat behind it. His eyes scanned for Dr Wilton. Relieved to see her entering a record shop that quickly slammed its door closed.
Now underneath the door frame of the bookstore, he laid his front down on the ground as guns fired once more. This time with a repetitive pattern Indy fathomed to be an automatic weapon. The exodus quickly yielded to the demands of a man yelling at them. Falling to the ground with their hands over their heads. Indy tucked himself back behind a small bookshelf, unable to reach and close the shop’s front door.
Several armed figures appeared marching down the road. In an open, almost casual formation, a total of six men stepped over the civilians.
To Indy’s trepidation. Each one of them wore a full-headed mask of figure-hugging bleach-white fabric. They steadily gestured with their hands to those not laying on the ground to descend.
One woman too terrified to obey or escape, kneeled quivering in place. One of the gunmen gestured again for her to drop, only to be ignored. He approached her as a powerless Indy observed.
‘Get down’ The man ordered, as the woman in shock, shivered in fear. He fired his weapon in the air causing the majority to flinch and whimper. With her remaining unresponsive, he impatiently grabbed the woman by her hair, pulling her down to the ground.
‘Indy, get back here.’ Eva whispered.
‘Call the police.’ He replied ignoring her wish, unaware the shop-keeper was already on the phone.
As the gunmen walked away from the woman, he checked the shop windows and called out to his colleagues.
‘It’s clear.’ He stated, causing a second armed man to walk up to and tap on the window of a car stopped near the end of the street.
Indy crawled towards the doorway to get a better view. A man stepped out of the vehicle and, to Indy’s growing wonder, wore a bleach-white mask, identical to Hades’s original veneer. Indy narrowed his eyes and tightened his focus. He thought for a moment if his original suit from the fire had somehow been stolen and dipped entirely in a thick white emulsion. It had every indentation, from the grimace of the eyes to the hollow mouthpiece.
He pulled out his phone and stealthily snapped pictures of the ruling assailant. The masked man slowly descended the street towards the civilians. One of the gunmen stood in front, appearing to announce the man’s arrival.
‘Keep your hands on the floor when Kingdom is addressing you.’ the man warned, stepping to the side. The man, now dubbed Kingdom, stood and sighed to himself. Slightly taller and slimmer than Indy, but with a presence as intimidating and as significant as Hades.
‘This isn’t right.’ He announced, his voice distorted by a reverberative voice box similar to the one Indy had once orchestrated. ‘Why should you all be punished like this? Why should you all live in fear?’ he asked with a false sympathetic tone, moving around the stapled-down citizens. ‘What have you done to deserve this?’ he continued to ponder. Treading over a civilian’s hand, slowly releasing his footprint as he walked further on. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I will tell you now. You have been blessed. You have been blessed with timid criminals, timid police, even timid heroes. You have let diversity run rampant, and with such the rats have infested your utopia. You live your lives free of accountability, as you let them sell you their empire of dirt.’ Kingdom stated, leaving all his listeners bewildered, paralysed with fear. ‘But do not fret, we are here. We are the resistance. We will make them pay. It will be chaotic, there will be lives lost, but we will prevail. You may call us terrorists’ he noted, as the terrified woman from before climbed to her feet and began to flee. One of the gunmen was quick to the task at hand, firing several shots into her back. ‘And we will call you, traitors.’ He warned.
With his vague sermon complete, Kingdom turned and headed back to his transport. ‘This is
a new beginning for our great city.’ He yelled on his exit, followed by his men.
Now excused, the city’s patrons resumed their exodus as Indy watched on astonished. Slowly, he stumbled out of the bookshop to stand frozen amongst the stampede. Untethered by the mentality of those around him. He watched the enigmatic terrorist climb into his car.
As the two vehicles took their leave, Kingdom looked out of his window and down the street to see a perplexed Indy.
The pair sharing an ambiguous glance, with Kingdom almost nodding in recognition. Indy looked back to him dumbfounded, for once not the man behind the mask.
✽
Frank ignited his lighter and cauterised the tip of his cigarette. The Iron Sea, often dull and bleak, looked inviting and almost out of place. A hue of warm orange and lilac lights reflected off its calm surface. From the derelict factory he was currently stationed, he could see the Imperial Quarter and the concrete river basin that sat beside it.
The young entrepreneur studied the quarter’s tallest building, the Melancholia. From its tallest floor, you could see not just the basin, the sea and the city. But the long, wide motorway that connected Kingsland to its neighbouring cities.
One day, he would make the Melancholia his office. His Kingsland office anyway.
Appreciating the view while attempting to drown out the sounds of the factory behind him. He evaluated his agenda. This was a big, big move. A risky investment deemed justifiable by the opportunity to replace the once all-ruling Isaac Kane. He reminded himself of his father’s and elder brother’s antics and how unlike them he was.
They had visions, they had resources. But they never appreciated the concept of the ‘calculated risk’. To jump, only when you could guarantee a happy landing. It was for that simple rule that both of them ended up where they were. Both in their own ways, imprisoned, punished by their past.
Frank wouldn’t fall into that trap. He knew Heracles would soon end their business relationship. He knew his alliances were as fleeting as his romantic pursuits. And when the moment arrived, he would not be a helpless deer in the road.
He would fashion a new path for himself, with seeds he had planted way before the burning of Que Pasa. An incident of which, would significantly help fund his new quests. It could be argued that with the club destroyed, Frank was free. Truly uninhibited in his mentality to realise his end-goals. To garner respect from those who would previously disparage him.
Comic Sans no more.
It may have seemed petty to some, but the opinions of others are what fuelled Frank’s persistence and in turn his ever-growing prosperity. This new enterprise would be his legacy. A legacy forged in his twenties so that he might live the next five decades on a lilo.
‘How did we do?’ he asked a figure arriving behind him.
‘Even I’m impressed with the samples.’ Tobias Razz confessed. A man of whom on first impression appeared disinterested in the horror that currently surrounded his name.
Frank moved with him towards the factory. Either ignorant or undeterred by his colleague’s alleged and indefensible acts. Reaching a small sample station at the entrance of the makeshift lab. Frank picked up a test-tube and smiled at its contents. A new, legal-high, called Nip. A new era in his hand.
‘It will take a while to be classified?’ he asked Razz, who seemed confident in their endeavour.
‘Even with an emergency hearing, it will take time. Newly developed amphetamines which don’t fall under a particular narcotic classification. Sit within the Temporary Class Drug Order. Police have no lawful authority other than to seize the product. Possession at this stage isn’t against the law.’
‘I want our boys in every corner of the city, every bar once shackled by Kane is ours now. We’re starting a new ecosystem. What’re the legalities of supplying?’
‘Ambiguous. Under the Psychoactive Substances Act, we could be looking at up to seven years, but again, the courts will struggle with this.’ Razz warned.
‘I love this shit. You’re like a handsome Wikipedia Tobias’ Frank smiled. Studying both a small team of chemists and the few armed security that watched over them. The beginnings of an empire.
‘Are you worried about police attention.’ Razz questioned, asking for both their venture and his other, far darker offences.
‘Well.’ Frank stood up straight and smirked.
‘We have our friend to take care of that.’ He informed, tossing the test-tube into Razz’s cautious catch.
✽
Over weeks that felt like months. The terrorist Kingdom had delivered on his promise. Propelling the city into more and more chaos on an almost daily basis. Two more of the city’s buildings had ruptured the skyline with seven people now dead from the malicious deeds.
Many had begun to point the figure at the vigilante. Seeing the terrorist’s actions and facade as a deliberate tribute to the dark figure. Polls as to whether the mysterious Hades should turn himself over to the city. Or even appease the terrorist, were frequently voted on in both the press and social media. Most people when prompted struggled to understand what the terrorists were actually doing. There seemed no actual purpose to their acts, only violence. The faction was without motive, which made them all the more frightening.
Those who believed in rumours believed Kingdom and his men to be a far right-wing gang. Determined to rid some race or party from the city.
Indy didn’t buy it. Though he felt powerless as the endless reckoning continued to inflict the city. His mind was on Goldmolar, his chief suspect. The only fragment of the rumours he conceded was that the Irishman might have been chummy with a few white supremacists. Outsourcing their hate.
Kingsland after months of chaos and theatricality had been nicknamed ‘the city of masks’ by the national press. A title that alienated Indy as it associated his actions with that of terrorists.
With all the carnage, the prime minister, who many believe the system to have corrupted. Had opted for a mode of passiveness. Indy accepted that apathy like big-money started at the top and diluted down. Remembering Kingdom’s comment of rats infesting utopia. The boys in the Old Market had wondered whether Goldmolar had approached the Ka. A small gang of South-African neo-Nazis who had pitched an embassy of sorts in Kingsland.
The threat of white supremacy had diminished considerably in the last decade. Something Isaac Kane, half-Polynesian, saw to in his younger years. What little left of the Ka’s discriminative cabals now slumbered in council houses. Their livelihoods funded by the taxpayer.
And though Kingdom’s attacks seemed entirely random. Big Red couldn’t help but notice that one Yardie ended up either wounded or killed in each event.
Indy stood in his long rain-coat on the corner of the street of some small terraced houses. Speaking with John via hands-free.
‘Are you sure about this? These guys are loons.’ John warned over the phone.
‘We find Molar, we end the chaos.’ Indy echoed back, determined as ever. With no one else in sight, he slid the mask over his face. Keeping his earphones in place.
‘We don’t know if this is Molar. The Ka’s are retired, old racists. There are others. We don’t want to make more enemi-’ John warned as Indy ended the call.
Indy now masked, removed the coat to reveal his impressive third suit. With the street empty, he jogged to the front door of the only house painted entirely white.
With the sun beginning to set on the ivory-coloured residence.
Its tenants, two South African skinheads, stumbled down the street towards their home. An Indian takeaway in hand.
‘Can’t trust those people. Especially ones that make food smell this good.’ One of the two explained with a thick Pretorian accent.
‘His daughter though, I could discard my integrity for one night.’ The other confessed, entering the ivory house. Carefree of their bigotry as a nervous neighbour quickly closed their front window.
Inside, the habitat was peaceful and welcoming. The furniture and t
he decor were retro in feel. Almost as if one of the tenants had inherited the property from their aged mother.
‘Did you hear about that Yardie getting set on fire. High times indeed.’ One man quipped. Dropping the takeaway down on the coffee table as his comrade draped himself over a sofa chair. Switching to a documentary about the achievements of the Third Reich. They both retired and lounged out for the night.
As the documentary concluded and its credits rolled. Both men were now fast asleep. As they slumbered in an unresponsive state. Hades silently stepped out from behind the pantry door and made his way to the living room. Noticing a gun resting on the kitchen counter. He picked it up and quietly ejected the magazine, dropping it in the bin. Reaching the dozing supremacists with the gun in hand, he studied their appearance. The pair each proudly sporting swastikas on their bare skin. He thought about their values, their ideologies. The kind of mentality one would need to wear such a uniform so brazenly.
Their mentality was almost identical to his own. For all their immoral and horrific belief, the foundations of their ways were built on the same misguided defiance. Definitive in their rationale that what they believed in was right. Hades acted with a similar ethos. To inspire some while scaring many. This correlation left a bitter taste in his mouth. One that drove him back into the kitchen, seeking out a select list of tools.
Ten minutes later. One of the supremacists immediately awakened to the crude sensation of a sharp kitchen knife thrust deep into his shoulder. Almost pinning him to his chair.
Squirming in pain. He turned to see the vigilante looking back as stoic as ever. A silencing finger pressed against the lips of his mask, the handle of the knife still in his grasp.
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