Unclaimed (The Complex Book 0)

by Candice Gilmer

  He recognized the structure’s design. It was one of the storage lockers, Cadell guessed, in his farming zone.

  “Who is that?” he asked.

  “Your problem now.”

  “No. Put her in jail if she’s a problem, that’s what you do, right? Imprison people who don’t agree with you?”

  “Fuck you, Cadell. It was war.”

  “It was wrong.”

  “Was it?” she glared at him. “You seem to be okay.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “Look, I just need to you to watch over her for a few days while I set up a situation.”

  “If it’s that big of a deal, why don’t you just kill her?”

  “Because, dumbass, if I kill her without probable reason, then I’m compromised. I have to make this look like she died on a flyer or something.”

  “Really? That’s the best you got?”

  She shrugged. “She’s Valkyrie. Wouldn’t be hard to set up a flying accident.”

  “She’s a what?” He’d always know there were hundreds of types of Metas out there, but seriously, Valkyrie?

  “Valkyrie. You know, they fly. But this one’s grounded. No wings. Won’t be much to create an accident for her, reliving her old days.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  Dumol shrugged. “It is what it is. Take care of her for a few days while I get everything ready.”

  He nodded and Dumol handed him a passcode to the shed she’d stashed the Meta in.

  Cadell’s stomach turned.

  Fuck.

  Why had he come here again?

  Chapter Ten

  “Wake up.”

  Morrigan blinked, most of her body hurt, and what didn’t hurt ached like it had been hurting.

  Immediately she tried to remember what had happened, everything flashing before her eyes, but it took a moment to sort out.

  She’d been at Climintra, reporting the vision she’d had. The one officer hadn’t believed her. Then the other Intra officer had walked her out. Friendly. Nicer.

  But she’d made Mori feel uneasy. Her head pounded, and the woman’s voice echoed in her mind. She wasn’t kind. She wasn’t nice.

  But something else had jarred her out of her unconscious. Another voice. Deeper, darker, and not happy.

  Had the other officer gotten her?

  “Wake up.” This voice was colder. Firmer than either of the officers she’d encountered in the Climintra tower.

  She blinked and winced at the light glaring in her face. Her head pounded. She was bound to a chair, inside a dark, utilitarian metal room. At least, from what she could tell. The light was inhibiting her ability to see anything.

  Now, this would be a great moment for my powers to surge, she thought. Whatever this wasn’t it wasn’t good.

  All more proof that her vision was more accurate than she realized.

  She jerked her arms, but they didn’t move, and she could feel the restraints biting into her skin, and her hands made the metal clatter against her chair.

  “Who’s there? What is this?” she asked, her voice choking as she called out.

  Steps echoed. “You should know exactly what this is,” the voice replied. “You’re Valkyrie, right? Angel of war? Surely you know what a POW is.”

  There was anger--a hatred in the voice.

  “There is no war,” she replied. “Not yet.”

  Steps brought the man closer, and as he cleared the edge of the light, she could see him taking off his shirt.

  What is this? She wondered. “What are you--” What was he about to do? Panic welled inside her.

  Please, powers. Please. Unlike before, that surge of information didn’t come. She couldn't access her powers.

  Damn.

  She could only watch in abstract horror, fearing what tortures were about to befall her.

  He pulled his shirt off, revealing his chest and arms, though she couldn’t make out much of his face, the light still inhibiting her vision.

  Light lines drifted up and down his right arm and over his shoulder, a soft pulsing light indicating cybernetic parts. His hands were laced with the lines, and the lines came together to make a larger thread that ran around his arm and up.

  Mori stared at the lines. She’d not seen a true cybernetic Human before. Not this close anyway.

  “There is always a war. Surely you know that, Meta.”

  She blinked and shook her head. She could almost feel the anger radiating off him. “You seem to be still fighting it,” she said.

  He smirked. “War will kill me,” he said.

  “Hate does that,” she replied, trying to figure out who he was.

  He must be with Human First. Was he another officer in the Climintra? She didn’t remember seeing him, or rather, hearing that voice before.

  Her vision must be correct if Human First had gone to this kind of trouble to make sure her vision wasn’t reported.

  She felt sick, wondering how high up the Climintra chain the Human First integration went.

  “That it does.” He came a little closer.

  “What do you want from me?”

  He came closer still and didn’t say anything. She still couldn’t see his face--the bright lights blinding her.

  “I asked you a question,” Mori said.

  He said nothing else. Just came next to her chair. He reached out, one of his cyborg fingers extended, like he was going to caress her cheek.

  She pulled away.

  He reached toward her head.

  She froze, not sure what he was doing. At least, for a second, she wasn’t sure what he was doing.

  Then he yanked her two hair sticks out. Her hair tumbled down her back.

  She jerked away but was unable to stop him. “Stop it. Why are you doing that?”

  “Taking your weapon.”

  “Those aren’t weapons, they’re only hair ornaments,” she said, smiling and trying to sound sweet. It had worked before; surely it would work again.

  “Only stupid Climintra officers fall for that.” He stuck them in his pocket.

  “But it is the truth.”

  “Don’t lie. I know your kind.”

  “No, you do not.” Humans knew very little about Metas, beyond the basics. Valkyrie were not common, either--there were only a few of them, compared with other races. Their weapons were even less known, yet he’d recognized what her hair sticks truly were.

  Who was this man?

  “One must always know their enemy. You should know that, Valkyrie.”

  “So, tell me who you are so I may know who I fight.”

  He twirled her weapons on his fingers. “I am The Butcher of P-Extinction.”

  The Butcher had left Mori after his announcement, and she felt a tiny bit of relief. If only so she could try to determine the best way out of her cell.

  Not that she had many choices--her chair was anchored to the floor, and the blinding light was too far away for her to turn off or knock over.

  Mori tried to tap back into her gift of the battlefield, but nothing would come.

  She had no idea if she was still inside the Complex--though Mori doubted she was outside the massive structure. The planet Lorn was a dead, barren world, and horribly hot. Likely she was hidden somewhere. Underground? Possibly, because that would be where they’d keep storage, she guessed, and from what she could see, this looked like a small storage locker of some kind.

  She tried to remember that moment at work when she’d seen the layout of the Complex in better detail. Her memories faulted her, though, and she could not recall the images.

  Frustration coiled.

  What kind of wicked trick of Odin’s was this? Was he truly so cruel to show her she still had power, then to hold it back when she truly needed it? If she ever made it back to Valhalla, she would certainly give him a few choice words.

  She gritted her teeth and tried to think, though the light glaring in her face made it hard to concentrate.

  All of this was m
uch bigger than the vision she’d had. A woman, an ambassador who’d helped bring peace between the Metas and the Humans, was going to be killed.

  And it looked like The Butcher of P-Ex was going to do it.

  She felt sick.

  Unable to see the whole picture, she knew not what she must do. Within her deepest core, however, she felt that killing this ambassador would cause an upturn of violence that might obliterate any chance the Humans and Metas had for peace.

  It would bring about the destruction of the Complex, and a new war would come. Darker, bloodier and even more violent than the last one.

  Somehow, she had to get out of here, and find a way--

  The door opened and in came a shadow. She couldn’t see him around the light but was certain it was the same man.

  The Butcher.

  It was the same stature, the same walk. He was back. A little glow crept from his hand, she could barely see it as he moved toward her, but it was enough to guide where he was in the dark. And this time, he carried something.

  A knife.

  Morrigan closed her eyes, and a wash of emotions ran over her.

  So, this was how it would end. Death by The Butcher of P-Ex in a storage locker. What remained of her warrior's heart was disgusted.

  Unable to defend myself.

  A death for nothing--an errant vision. After all she’d been through over the vastness of time and space, war after war, she would die here.

  Because of a vision.

  “Such a dishonorable way to die,” she whispered, though more to herself rather than anyone else.

  Where was the sense in her death?

  He paused for a second, though he didn’t speak, he did mumble a curse of some kind, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  “Killing me won’t protect you. I told others about my vision.” She hoped her bluff would give him pause.

  It didn’t. He didn’t break stride.

  She shivered as he stepped behind her chair, his posture methodical and cold.

  She tipped her head back and inhaled a breath, prepared to feel the cool bite of the blade as her last sensation.

  That was not what she felt.

  Instead, a snap freed her hands. She pulled her hands to her chest. “What?” She started glancing around, trying to figure out what he was doing.

  The Butcher came around and knelt before her, his face emotionless as he sliced the straps that bound her feet.

  Adrenaline surged, and Mori launched herself backward, doing a flip over the chair. Had she had her wings, she would have taken to the sky and flown out of the room. Or at the very least landed more gracefully.

  Instead, she stumbled, her hands out, ready for a fight and she backed away from him.

  He stood, his silhouette blocking the light that had been blinding her. She blinked a few times to take in the details better, her eyes needing a moment to orient.

  “I’m not cruel. You’re not an animal. You be civil, this will be easy,” he said.

  “Until it’s time to kill me?” she asked.

  “Until your vision doesn’t matter.”

  She blinked. “You’re not going to kill me?”

  “Not if I don’t have to.”

  She hoped he didn’t have to.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Oh no, she’s gotten free,” Dumol said from outside the storage locker. The feed from the interior showed the Valkyrie moving around, not staying still.

  Probably plotting.

  She could plot all she wanted. As long as she behaved when the door opened, then Cadell wasn’t worried about her.

  Dumol, however, was not as casual about it. She put her hand on the door, but Luke stopped her.

  “Don’t.”

  “What? She could get out.”

  Luke shook his head. “She won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She would have done it by now.”

  Dumol raised her eyebrow. “You released her,” she said, irritation churning in her voice.

  “Taste of freedom,” Luke said.

  “How kind. Loosen the leash before you choke her to death.” She paused like she was getting an incoming call.

  Luke grimaced and turned to walk toward the farms. He had no logical reason for his actions. Prisoners of war shouldn’t be treated kindly. That’s what all the books said. That’s what his captors had said, wasn’t it?

  But was he still at war?

  He didn’t know anymore. Some days he was. Others, not so much.

  Seeing that girl--Meta or not, didn’t matter at that moment--tied to that chair, it brought up memories that he didn’t want to remember.

  Pain he didn’t want to feel anymore.

  The kind that knew exactly what it felt like to be tied to that chair.

  Dumol had never understood it. One look in her cold eyes and he knew she had never left the P-Extinction battlefields. She would fight until her dying breath.

  Would Luke?

  He’d thought he would. He’d decimated his enemies, intentionally, or through programs. The result was the same. Dead battlefields. He’d always believed he fought a good fight, but now? He wondered why it was so important.

  He’d come here to get off the Human world, Raxu, to get away from the poverty and the echoes of war that remained everywhere. Buildings ravaged, landscaped demolished, everything upside down and topsy-turvy.

  The fact that Human First had gotten him here a few days early? Easy enough to live with. He had made all his arrangements before he left, anyway.

  He would never step outside the Complex again. He knew that. Human First knew that. When the Metas in the Complex knew he was here, they’d make sure he never tasted free air again.

  And he was okay with that. He didn’t deserve more.

  He glanced back at the storage shed. Dumol was talking to someone through her communicator, but he couldn’t see who. She was agitated.

  Pissed even.

  He didn’t give a fuck. He tossed a lid on a crate of vegetables for the forest dome commerce center.

  If Dumol was upset that he’d released that Meta’s bonds in the storage shed she couldn’t possibly escape from, he was okay with it.

  She’d already pissed him off plenty. This whole situation pissed him off plenty.

  He hefted the crate onto a modified zipper to be taken up for sale to the different food places.

  “Hey, boss,” one of the other workers rolled up. He couldn’t remember the dragon’s name. Bregger. Berk. Something. That late fuck. Him. Though he had been on time more since that first day.

  Cadell gestured to the zipper. “Take these up to the commerce area. Then check the irrigation over in quadrant seven.”

  The dragon nodded and headed off.

  Luke crossed to a display pad and started accessing the needs of the four farming areas. Regardless if Dumol had plans, he still had work to do.

  The farms were mostly automated, as far as the major things, like irrigation and harvesting. However, with all machines, maintenance needed to be kept up on. That’s what Luke did along with his crew of Metas and Humans. They moved from area to area, working on whatever needed done. Each zone, since it was a particular type of farming, required a certain amount of specific work. The aqua zones had to be regularly monitored for buildups of gunk in the water filters, for example, and the arid farms? The opposite--rust and minerals would dry out the equipment.

  His teams stayed busy. He had a group now over at the Arid farms working on equipment, not to mention another team was out checking things on the Alpine farms.

  Dumol stomped over to him. “If there’s trouble, it’s on you.”

  “Uh huh,” Cadell replied.

  “I’ve been authorized to do whatever’s necessary to make sure the mission goes by the numbers.” She glared at him.

  “That’s nice,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

  She reached into her pocket.

  His arm shot out to his side, no lo
nger under his control. The cybernetic systems kicked alive, shocking him with energy, as his hand snapped up, and saluted her, even his posture going rigid.

  Fucking implants…

  Through clenched teeth, Cadell growled at her. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  “Whatever. Means. Necessary.” The hold she had over his implant ceased, and he dropped his hand.

  “I should--“

  She pulled out the controller and held it up. “Do your job, Cadell.” She turned and walked away.

  And every part of him wanted to pummel her, for a multitude of reasons--this one just being reason number 4,234,356,156.

  Fuck.

  He hated her.

  Damn.

  He glanced back at the storage shed. He should let that Meta go, just to spite her. He crossed back to the displays for the interior of the shed. He unlocked the view and checked the woman out.

  She moved around, systematically looking for an escape.

  He nodded. Good. She was okay then.

  He glanced at the time on the display, and a notification came up, reminding him it was time to check the Aqua farm filters.

  Well, hell. He’d better go over there.

  ~*~*~

  He was sore, his back hurt from bending over the filters, but he got the Aqua Farms check in. He might never get that fish smell off him, but hey.

  He just needed to remember that those aqua-based Metas were a clothing-optional group. While he never minded glancing at the occasional female form, he didn’t need to see that aqua-males had the same junk he did. No one was rude or anything, but he just had to remember to always look them in the eyes.

  At least the food production was in good order. Something should be functioning because every other aspect wasn’t exactly working for him.

  He reached the Temperate farming zone and opened the storage shed.

  Brought his hand up in time to block the metal shards hurled at him by the Valkyrie.

  Probably should have removed the chair before he left.

  She’d made good use of her time.

  The chair sat in pieces in the center of the room, the legs still bolted to the floor, but the rest in shambles. She was on the far side, mixed in the shadows. The only hint where she was came from the shards from the chair in her hand glinted. The bright light had been dimmed to a more tolerable level and stuck in the corner to illuminate the room, all except her corner.