Nameless: Book Three in the Enhanced Series

by T. C. Edge

  I shut my eyes tight and hang my head forward.

  The clothes weren’t important. It was what was in my jacket pocket that meant so much to me.

  “My parents’ picture,” I whisper, cranking my jaw open after a brief stretch of silence. “It was in my pocket.”

  “Oh…I’m so sorry, Brie. I should have checked.”

  “It’s, um, not your fault,” I say, my voice nothing but a shade, cold and empty. “I can’t blame anyone except me. All of this is my fault.”

  “No it’s not, don’t talk like that. You’ve been thrust into the middle of all this. None of it is your fault.”

  “Well, saving Drum was my idea, wasn’t it? I never had to do that.”

  “You did. You had to. You’re a good person. Too good sometimes. Drum is lucky to have a friend like you.”

  “Well, I doubt you’ll be able to say that about me once I’ve committed murder.”

  “I’ll say it all day long,” she says. “Drum killed a man. Do you think he’s a bad person?”

  I shake my head silently.

  “Exactly. Doing a bad thing doesn’t make you a bad person. Just like doing something good doesn’t erase the bad. Shades of grey, Brie. The world is far more complicated than that.”

  I stay silent, knowing she’s right.

  “And anyway, look on the bright side – Zander has another picture, doesn’t he? So, all is not lost.”

  I work a weak smile onto my face for her benefit. But really, that’s his picture, not mine. It sounds stupid, but I’ve had that picture next to my bed every day since I can remember. Only recently has it found itself in my pocket. For me, it’s the most important thing I have in the world.

  And now it’s gone.

  Forever.

  11

  I don’t linger long in the academy. Half because I don’t want to, and half because I have other things I need to be getting on with.

  Escaping to the silence of my room, I attempt to make contact with Zander. Right now, the number one priority on my mind is to train and work to unlock my mental abilities. Until that happens, I’m more or less treading water.

  And if I tread water too long, I’ll probably just drown.

  Unfortunately, my attempts to speak with Zander fail. It’s not a failing on my part, as far as I can tell. I feel fresh, alert, and mentally agile. When I picture his face and project the words, I do so with a greater confidence than ever before.

  And yet I receive no response. Zip. Nada.

  I conclude, after ten minutes of trying, that he’s otherwise engaged. Frankly, I don’t entirely know the rules of telepathic communication quite yet. For all I know, he might just be sleeping, his mind otherwise occupied with dreams that serve to drown out my words.

  It’s frustrating, but on this occasion, I refuse to let it distract me. Without putting too much thought into it, I change clothes into the more hardy attire I’m used to, pull on a second, even more run-down set of work boots than the others my guardian burned, and set off into the city.

  Given how my favourite jacket, too, was part of the cremation, I’m forced to wear the one Titus gave me. It’s a little too large, but still comes with a hood. I consider it a decent alternative.

  I slip out without informing Mrs Carmichael of my departure, working my way straight up Brick Lane without a firm picture of what I’m going to do.

  I would make for the underlands, but suspect that it’s too dangerous to go down there right now. Returning to the waterfall would be one step too far on the foolhardy scale, as would any of the shelters in the city. I can’t quite know which ones actually have secret doors and passages. And the ones that do might well be being watched. It’s not a risk I can take.

  What I do know, however, is that I’d like to practice using my powers. And, as far as I can figure, the only place for that might just be the northern quarter. Fewer people. Fewer Con-Cops. More places to hide.

  It sounds like an ideal spot to me.

  I can’t deny the prospect of putting myself in a marginal state of danger either. I’ve learned that my abilities tend to manifest faster when I’m under duress, or when I find myself in a situation where I’m forced to utilise them.

  Take, for example, how my eyes developed so quickly when down in the pitch black of the underlands. Or how my Dasher abilities started to surge when Zander and I headed off to track down Drum and cut off the convoy.

  Perhaps the same will be true among the tight lanes and alleys of the northern quarter, where danger lurks around every corner? Simply being there might help to sharpen my mind and develop my cognitive powers. They’re the ones I need to be working on.

  So I head north, setting my mind to the task without questioning it too much. As I move along the Conveyor Line, and approach the southern districts of the northern quarter, I step off with a few niggling doubts that this move might be too reckless.

  I shut the doubts down and continue on, moving into the shadows and away from the light. Before too long, I’m finding myself beyond the dank residences of the southern districts, working my way into more deserted streets where only a smattering of life grows in murky corners.

  Above, the sky grows gloomy too, this place appearing to exist under a permanent blanket of dark grey and black cloud. There’s a dampness in the air, as well, that suggests a shower might be on its way.

  I shuffle a little deeper under my cloak and drag my hood down a little further. After spending half a morning consumed by the thickest of toxic mists, a little acid rain hardly frightens me anymore. Still, my hands remain a little tender and sore in places, so I’d rather avoid getting them wet if possible.

  On the other hand, my new jacket, whilst a little too big, appears to be a major upgrade from a defensive perspective. It’s coated in a fine layer of anti-burn material that will never corrode no matter how much rain it sees. All I need to do is get it adjusted, and I’ll consider it a very fortunate gift from my Brute friend.

  As I work my way into the deepest, darkest holes I can find, the rain begins to drip, tapping on my back as I thrust my hands in my pockets. What people there are here quickly shoot off under cover, following the rats and the cats into nooks and crannies.

  From the shadows, creepy eyes stare out as I stick to the centre of the street, my jacket most likely a very attractive lure for the more dangerous residents of this pit. Here, where the Disposables live, fighting for scraps and territory among this forgotten part of the city.

  But that’s just the aim. I want to lure them, I want to attract them. I wander along, acting like a lost girl, nervous and afraid and completely alone. Bait on a line, ready to be bitten.

  Come on, bite me…

  The rain continues to drip. I test its potency by pulling a dainty looking hand from its pouch, and hold it under the light shower. The water does little more than fiz on my skin, child’s play compared with the thick poison beyond the boundary wall.

  But I needed to test it. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too much of a deterrent, holding the local thieves and killers back from their work.

  Oh, I want them to work. I want them to come at me.

  Come on…I’m right here…come and get me…

  I continue on, still acting the part. My peripheral vision, hidden under the shadow of my cowl, keeps a lookout, seeing all the way to my left and right and even some way behind me. My muscles charged and primed to act should they need to. Every part of me coiled like a spring.

  My breathing stays calm. Yet behind my chest, my heart thuds, pressing against my ribs. I feel alive, alert, my mind focusing hard.

  Awakening.

  Then, behind me, to an alley on the left, I see the quick shuffle of movement. A figure darts towards me, scuttling from the darkness. I let him come, let him near me, moving behind my back and growling into my ear. I feel a sharp point tickling the space between my shoulder blades, a knife intended to force my acquiescence.

  “Don’t move. I don’t want to hurt you. Ju
st gimme the jacket, and I’ll be on my way.”

  The voice is coarse, sending a waft of stinking breath past my hood and flowing up my nose. My heart pulses with a little more force as I prepare to make my move.

  “No,” I say coolly. “The jacket’s mine.”

  I want to give him a chance. I want to make sure he deserves what I do next.

  Once more, his putrid breath fills the air in front of me.

  “You gimme the jacket now,” he says, his words oozing more menace, his knife digging a little deeper. “If you don’t, I’ll take a lot more than that…”

  I feel his hand gripping my side, slipping down.

  He’s done. He deserves it all.

  I uncoil my limbs, spinning with rage. My eyes are quick enough to pick up the look of utter surprise on his face, my movements so quick he’s unable to react in any physical fashion as I whip my fist across his jaw.

  His eyes roll about for a few moments in his skull, before falling away and leaving nothing but white. As his body collapses, I scoot in and grab him, his grotty clothes stained and dirty.

  In a split second, I dash with his weight in my arms, shooting into the alley that just coughed him up. It’s his territory, and his alone. No one else will join us.

  Good…

  I plant him against a wall, hidden down in the doorway of a derelict building and out of the rain. I have my prize, I’ve tested my powers.

  And now, I test the rest.

  He takes a little while to wake up. I help him on his way by lightly slapping his cheeks, making sure to bind his hands and feet with tape before I do so.

  When his eyes do open, they hold the same look they had before I closed them, as if his brain has just come back to life and continued on from where it left off.

  “Ahhhhh,” he mutters, looking at me with confusion.

  I’m hidden beneath my cloak, my face in shadow. He can’t see it.

  “Who…who are you?” he asks, his hard words melting away. He’s nothing but a frightened child now. And at my mercy. “What do you want with me?” he stammers.

  I don’t answer for a moment. His staring eyes are exactly what I’m here for.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper, making sure to lower the pitch of my voice to conceal it. “You’re just here to help me.”

  “Help you…how?”

  “Just look at me and relax,” I say, repeating Agent Woolf’s words. “That’s all I want you to do.”

  “I…I don’t understand. You can keep the jacket. I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have…”

  “Shhhhh,” I say. “Stay calm, stay silent. Just look at me, and nothing else.”

  My words help to soothe him. But they’re creepy and cryptic enough to make sure his eyes stay open. Wide open.

  It’s exactly what I need. I mean this man no harm, despite what he did, or tried to do. To me, he’s nothing but practice. And I need lots of practice.

  So I look into his eyes, a dark shade of blue, cracked around the rims with streaks of red. I put into practice the basic training Zander gave me, utilising the situation and my pacing heart to search deeper, to find the part of this man that contains his memory.

  I move in, and sift through, and then blurred images begin to form. I did this with Zander, but his memories never grew in clarity. They stayed blurred and muddy, my powers yet to manifest.

  But today it’s different. The images grow clearer, almost identifiable. I see them all, floating about in little clouds inside him, memories of his recent past hovering on the surface.

  I focus harder, and dive deeper, moving into other parts of him, seeing more distant memories. Memories from his past, days or weeks or months ago. The further in I go, the more blurred they become, his own recollections less sturdily formed and harder for me to inspect.

  My heart rages wildly as I move within his mind, a smile of wonder working up on my face. I pull back from the distant memories and look again upon his recent ones, far clearer now, the world appearing from his perspective.

  Right there, I see myself, and watch him coming out of the shadows and approach me from behind. I see the knife to my back, and begin to feel his own pacing heart as he growls into my ear. I feel his desire for my jacket, and the emptiness inside him, his life out here a constant fight for survival.

  Then, I see me spin with such pace he’s unable to react, my fist flashing across his face like lightning, hitting with such force due to its speed. Immediately, a black swamp descends, and the memory concludes, fading into nothing.

  For a little while longer, I stroll through his mind, through this strange world of floating recollections, stretching away into the distance as far as the eye can see. I look at other memories, getting a sense for the man. Fighting with others for scraps of food. Battling over a corpse for a new pair of shoes. Hiding in the shadows as a troop of Con-Cops come marching through, lighting up the world with their torches and spotlights as they search for Disposables to round up to be taken to the REEF.

  I lose track of time in this man’s head, searching through his memories without realising what damage I’m doing. And when I finally pull back, and appear in that dark alleyway again, and see the man ahead of me, tied up in the doorway, I see eyes of total grief looking back.

  He looks lost. His eyes stare forward, broken, his breathing smooth and calm. I shake him on the shoulder, and try to draw him back out.

  His eyes stay as they are, sticking forward in one direction, not engaging with me as I attempt to catch his attention.

  “Hello, can you hear me?” I ask, shaking him harder. “Hello?!”

  Nothing happens. He just sits there, his brain scrambled by my reckless infiltration.

  I don’t know what to do.

  And then I hear it. A voice from the end of the alley. And coming with it, a cloaked figure, walking casually towards me.

  “What are you doing here, Brie?”

  I look to see my brother moving towards me. His voice is calm, his footfall silent. The rain continues to tap, dancing on his shoulders and head, covered in its hood.

  “I…help me,” I say. “I’ve done something to this man…”

  He reaches me, stepping undercover from the rain, and bends his knees.

  “What did you do?” he asks.

  “I just…I was testing my powers. I looked into his memories, that’s all. I just did what you’ve done to me, what you taught me…”

  “Did you watch any?”

  “Um, yeah, quite a few. I couldn’t help it.”

  “You must have rearranged something in there. The mind is a delicate thing, and you have to treat things carefully when you look inside them. If you disorganise even a single memory, it can be costly.”

  “I was just looking, though.”

  “You must have gone deep, must have made too much noise. If you jump between memories, sometimes they get moved out of sync. Step aside,” he says.

  He takes my place before the man, and stares deeply into him. For a few long moments, the two lock together in a silent staring contest. Then, suddenly, Zander withdraws, and the man’s eyes slowly come back to life.

  “Wha…what’s happening?!” he stammers. His eyes turn to see the two of us before him. “What did you do to me?!”

  “Nothing permanent,” says Zander, his voice carrying no caring or sympathy.

  He reaches forward and unties the man’s hands and feet, before stepping back into the dripping rain beside me.

  “Now, be on your way. You may have a headache for a day or two, but that will fade. Go, leave us.”

  The man doesn’t need to be told twice. Looking at Zander like he’s the Devil incarnate, he works his way up onto trembling legs and stumbles away down the alley, tumbling occasionally into the acid puddles as he goes.

  I watch him go, feeling entirely foolish. Had Zander not come along, I’d have probably done irreparable damage to him.

  But how did Zander come along?

  “How did you find me
?” I ask, turning back to him.

  “We’re connected, Brie,” he says nonchalantly, as if that’s all the explanation I need. “Maybe you can’t feel it yet, but I can always feel you. I sensed you were near, and came looking for you. It’s a good thing I found you when I did.”

  I duck my head guiltily.

  His words brighten.

  “It happens to the best of us,” he says, lifting my chin. “No permanent harm done. And, in any case, that man’s done enough bad in his life to deserve what you did to him.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask. “How can you see his memories without messing with his head?”

  “Practice,” he says. “This is your first time. You went plodding through without thinking. It happens. Soon enough, you’ll learn how to do it properly.”

  “How soon? We don’t have much time.”

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “We don’t. And you’ve got a lot to learn.”

  He turns down the alley, and sets his eyes to the murky world before us.

  “Now come, let’s try again. And this time, we’ll do it right.”

  12

  As we move off eastwards, my brother attempts to offer a better explanation as to what I did, and how I need to behave in future. He uses layman’s terms to keep things simple, choosing not to overload me with too much mumbo-jumbo.

  “Think of it like being at a buffet,” he explains. “You’re starving, and there’s all this amazing looking food around you. You don’t know what’s going to taste the best, and it’s all new to you, so you just fill your plate with everything you can see. That’s kind of what happened. That was your first successful attempt at infiltrating a man’s mind and exploring his memories. Of course you’re going to be excited by it. And of course you’re going to jump around without much thought for what you’re doing. Are you with me so far?”

  “I think so, yeah. But, how do you do it? When you search someone’s memories, how do you do all that without screwing them up?”

  “As I say, practice is important. Mostly, you go looking for something specific. You’re searching for a particular memory, or a particular type of memory. You look either short term or long term, and that all helps to narrow things down. You clearly went rushing about without any set design, and that’s how you mess with someone’s head. So much of what we are is based on our memories. If you begin reordering them, or bringing too many to the surface at once, then it can have terrible consequences. Trust me, I’ve done it before.”