by T. C. Edge
The guard looked again to his notepad, scribbling something Chloe couldn’t see. She tensed a little, before his eyes lifted once more and he dipped his chin.
“Just one last thing, Miss Trayfoot,” he said. “How long have you been here in Sub-Tower 12?”
“The pit? Um, that’s in your records, right?”
“I assume so.”
He left it open for her to speak again.
“Well, it’s been about 3 months now, I think,” she said.
He nodded.
“Three months, you say. And where were you before this?”
“That’s in my file too,” said Chloe, keeping to script. She’d always made sure that any fake I.D. she got her hands on came fully stocked with sufficient backstory and a recent address. “I lived up in Oregon. That’s where my parents were, before they went to war. I came down here to seek work. Why the interest, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Just a regular line of enquiry at times like this,” said the guard. “You’ve heard the reports of spies and such people entering the city from enemy territories? It’s been in the news a lot of late.”
“Sure,” nodded Chloe, her heart beginning to pump harder. “No spy’s going to come live here, though,” she laughed. “Nothing to see. No secrets to steal.”
“True enough,” said the guard, working up a smile in response. “Again, though, it’s just protocol to ask in circumstances that don’t add up like normal. You’re not the type we usually get here, working down in the factories and plants.”
“No, but I had no choice. I heard there was work here for someone willing to get their head down and hands dirty. I’m a good worker, sir. Ask my boss at the plant, he’ll tell…”
The guard lifted a hand, cutting Chloe off.
“It’s quite all right, Miss Trayfoot. No need for that.” He glanced behind her to the bed, then down at her legs once more. “You get your sleep. I know where to find you if I have any other questions.”
Chloe waited for him to leave, his eyes lingering a touch on her before slipping away. His footsteps faded off down the metal corridor, speeding as they ventured towards the elevators, and Chloe retreated back into her room, locking the door tight.
She sat on the bed, going over the exchange once more in her head. It was always smart to do so, analysing the conversation, recalling every spoken word and furtive glance.
Anything could point to a clue, a possible hint that she’d been recognised. It was how she’d kept one step ahead of her pursuers all these years. And though she always took great steps to alter her appearance where possible, she could never be sure just when someone with a particularly keen eye might notice her.
Her pulse was therefore refusing to settle as she conducted her appraisal.
It wasn’t a conversation she ever wished to have, and sure, he was just a lowly sub-tower guard, but he was still in that chain of authority that could link up to a higher level. Anyone in such a capacity would be more inclined to know about her true identity, and thus would be more likely to see through her facade.
And especially here, in Sub-Tower 12, so close to the heart of LA. She’d grown too comfortable, too sure of her genius in choosing to nest here in enemy territory. Perhaps, in the end, it was folly. Maybe she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was, trying to hide in plain sight here.
Had she become lazy? Had she exposed a chink in her armour?
She went over the conversation several more times, shutting her eyes to visualise it in greater detail. There was one particular moment of note that set her heart to a higher pace…
The guard had looked too long at her hips.
She’d stretched, a basic attempt to seduce and distract him, and he’d clearly noticed something that had his brows briefly bunching.
Sitting on the bed, Chloe pulled up her t-shirt, exposing the portion of her midsection that the guard will have seen. She immediately knew what he’d been staring at - a three inch scar, just left of her right hip and above the line of her underwear. It was a battle-scar from two years ago, one she’d received during a close run in with a particularly feisty bounty hunter. She’d managed to fight the man off in the end, but not before he’d left his mark.
It was a gunshot wound, slicing across her skin and digging half a centimetre into her flesh. It required some manual stitching, a job Chloe wasn’t great at, and had subsequently left a slightly uneven scar that clearly hadn’t been sutured by a pro.
Had he just looked at it, because it was unusual? she wondered. There was nothing to connect it to her true identity, after all…
Then it came. The thought. The realisation.
She bent at the waist and reached under her bed, hastily pulling her rucksack back onto her lap.
She dragged out the folded bundle of wanted posters, immediately sifting through them, one by one. In each of them, she was fully dressed and covered.
Each of them, but one…
The most recent picture of her had been taken on a particularly hot day, a fair way east of here. She was caught by a drone, trekking in the hills in the neutral zones between the warring nations. It was the picture on the latest wanted poster she’d picked up in that town in Appalachia, the very one that led to her decision to head west…
And in that picture, her stomach was exposed.
And the very scar the guard had been looking at, was plain for the eye to see.
3
In the security control room that watched over the residential floors of Sub-Tower 12, a balding man of rotund frame and middle years named Derik sat, staring absentmindedly at a bunch of screens. Dressed in the simple security suit to fit his role, he’d long since known that working security here was something of a misnomer.
After all, a lot of criminal activity went unpunished in the building, and they’d been firmly instructed to let it pass. With an expensive war to fight, it was hardly of high priority to punish minor infractions such as prostitution, bootlegging, and illegal forms of gambling, and they didn’t exactly have the staff to do much about it.
Besides, the people worked their butts off here. They deserved some distraction.
Of course, the balding man himself didn’t indulge as some of his colleagues did. Despite finding himself in this rather lowly post, he’d made sure to keep his morals in check.
Still, his job wasn’t exactly fulfilling, and was almost exclusively spent here in the control room on sub-level 25, aimlessly watching over the secret gambling dens and illegal liquor production facilities, hidden away in some of the residential boxes, without doing a single thing about it. It was frustrating, really, for a man of moral conscience. He was an agent of the law by name only. In truth, his role within the control room made him little more than an official peeping tom.
As Derik sat there, however, another night set to pass without great incident, something caught his eye.
It was a little past 11PM, normally a very quiet time for the pit, as this industrial earthscraper was so affectionately known, and yet a figure could be seen walking swiftly down the corridor on sub-level 39 and heading for the elevators. Derik peered in and noted that it was, in fact, his colleague, Matt, who was puffing and panting as he entered the lift, which began speeding right up to sub-level 25.
Derik watched with interest as Matt continued on his path, passing several security cameras and heading right for the control room. He arrived within a minute or so, rushing right through the door with a deep shade of pink to his cheeks and a steady heaving to his chest.
“What on earth’s got into you?” asked Derik, swerving his gaze from the security monitors as the door thrashed open. “Has something happened? You’re meant to be following up on the corpse down on sub-level 75, aren’t you?”
Matt came hurrying right forward, and dropped into a swivel chair.
He took a deep breath, ignoring his colleague, and began tapping away at the touchscreen of a sleek computer, filling the space ahead with a series of holographic images
.
The balding man watched on quizzically, peering at the figure that began appearing before his eyes.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “This isn’t a time to be ogling some girl. Wait…is that…are those…”
“Wanted posters for Chloe Phantom, yeah,” breathed Matt quickly, flicking through the images with a growing haste.
“And why exactly are you looking at pictures of her?” queried Derik. “I mean, she’s a pretty girl, sure. But if that’s what you’re after, there are other ways to, how should I put this…entertain yourself.”
Matt was ignoring him, his dancing fingers continuing to work feverishly for a few moments, before suddenly stopping abruptly. A single image now floated before the two men. That of a girl of 19 with fierce blue eyes, trekking through the wilds wearing light shorts and a sports bra, and with a military rucksack fixed to her back.
She had pale skin and black hair, her physique honed by years on the run. An impressive specimen, no doubt, but one portion of her body held particular interest for the young security guard.
Reaching forward to the hologram, Matt immediately began drawing in closer to the girl’s midsection, and started rotating it to get a better look. He tapped a few buttons again, and the image grew in clarity.
He stopped, stared, and then sat back, shaking his head.
“Jesus…” he whispered. “No way…”
Derik was now growing aggravated. His colleague clearly had a strange fetish for unpleasant looking scars on beautiful women, judging by the close up image of the rather unsightly gash next to the girl’s right hip.
He reached across, grabbing Matt’s shoulder in a bid to command his attention.
“Now listen here, Matthew,” he said firmly. “I’m the senior figure here. So you’d better damn well tell me just why you’re looking at pictures of Chloe Phantom’s stomach? The girl’s a ghost, and you very well know the rumours. Phantom is an appropriate name for her…”
Matt’s head was still shaking. His lips tilted into a half-fearful, half-excited smile.
“No, Derik, she’s not a ghost,” whispered Matt. “She’s real all right.”
“And what makes you say that?”
Matt took a long breath, hardly believing what he was thinking.
“Because I’m fairly certain I’ve just been speaking with her down on 39…”
Chloe was no longer so sparsely dressed.
Her t-shirt had been covered in a rugged tan jacket, her legs in a pair of worn out jeans. She’d pulled on a pair of sturdy black boots, flung her cap back onto her head, and slipped on some black fingerless gloves that made controlling her electrical discharge abilities a little easier.
She was still learning the ropes on that front, as with her other nanobot gifts. Some took time and effort to master. Others were naturally inbuilt, working all the time without conscious thought. Her inability to contract any sort of disease was one, thus the toxic fumes here were never going to harm her, no matter how long she stayed. Those clever little nanites were ever scouring her cells for dangerous pathogens and nasty viruses, keeping her fit and healthy at all times.
They even allowed her to heal super-quick. She scarred like a normal person, but the entire process just happened a lot faster. The gash near her right hip was a good example, being the first serious wound she’d suffered in battle. Barely half an hour after she’d sewn herself up, the flesh was knitting itself back together, and the scar was forming over the top. It was a particular ability that she knew nothing about at the time, so you can imagine her surprise at seeing it happen.
There were other discoveries that were similarly fascinating, though not entirely unheard of. Chloe was fully aware that nanobots were used for various applications in all sorts of fields, and that from a military perspective, there were certain elite soldiers augmented as she was, if not with exactly the same cocktail of gifts that she had at her disposal.
Her father, after all, had been involved in the development and advancement of the technology. Chloe felt certain that he’d saved something special just for her.
Still, speedy healing, extreme durability to disease and contagions, and increased endurance and stamina were common augmentations that elite fighting forces had. The tech remained expensive, though, so such soldiers were rare. They were the top of the top, not the regular fighting soldiers who primarily fought the wars. If a difficult job needed doing, they were the types you’d call upon, and Chloe had been hunted by their type before.
Right now, however, she was having to think fast. Her mind was swift to draw a concerning conclusion from her little run-in with the guard, and it wasn’t a particularly pretty one.
As far as she saw it, and risk averse as she was, she didn’t have much choice. He’d seen her scar, guaranteed. It had been plastered all over the poster from 6 months back. Sure, it was a poster over in the NDSA, not here in the west, but that wouldn’t matter. The guy saw it, and it triggered something in his head.
Chloe knew it. Her cover was bust.
And it was time to go.
Picking up her rucksack, she flung it over her back, muttering to herself angrily. Such was her life, that she had to make these decisions quickly and without hesitation. She might be wrong. The guard might just have been looking at her hips for another reason entirely, or else just gazing at the scar wondering what might have caused it. It was all possible that nothing would come of it, and she’d be able to keep on living her pathetic little life down here beneath the earth for a little while longer.
But, possible wasn’t a word Chloe liked. It was a dangerous word, and one that suggested various outcomes. At best, the guard’s glance had meant nothing. At worst, he was onto her, and would be up there in the control room now, calling in for support.
And that was a frightening thought.
She took a final look at the little box she’d inhabited these last months, eyeing the place with a strange disappointment. She’d begun to feel safe here, a welcome and much needed break from the perils above. And all it took was an unfortunate run-in with a corpse to get the dominos toppling again.
The vultures were beginning to circle once more…
She sighed, shook her head, and with all her meagre belongings stacked into her bag, stepped out into the corridor.
A horrible feeling engulfed her. The guard had seemed nice enough, but Chloe had her rules.
She didn’t like being seen.
And she didn’t like leaving witnesses.
4
After a pause that lasted several long moments, Derik’s lips parted and he spoke from beneath a tight and rather amused frown. He was prone to disbelieving this new colleague of his, and the notion of Chloe Phantom living here, in Sub-Tower 12 in LA’s industrial district was, well, quite ridiculous.
She hadn’t been seen for months now. Why on earth would she surface here, in the most powerful city on the continent?
It seemed fanciful at best, and his conclusion, therefore, was that his young co-worker was merely pulling his leg.
“So I’m going to go ahead and assume you’re joking,” Derik said with a slight laugh. He peered at the monitor to check the date. “It’s not April first is it? You’re not trying to fool me?”
Matt was still ogling the image of Chloe, his eyes staring at the least attractive portion of her frame.
“It’s her,” he was saying. “It’s got to be her. That scar, it’s identical I’m telling you. It’s Chloe damn Phantom!”
Derik’s smile evaporated. Enough was enough. He needed a proper explanation.
“Ok, so I’m starting to think you’re serious. Deluded, probably. But serious. Explain to me just what you’re talking about, step by step.”
Matt’s heightened rate of breathing made his explanation a little stilted. He rattled off the last five minutes of his life, starting with his arrival at the door of Layla Trayfoot, or so the girl was calling herself right now. He explained how he saw the scar as she stre
tched, and how he’d remembered seeing it somewhere. It didn’t take long to realise just where.
“I’ve always been interested in her. I mean, who isn’t.” he concluded. “And that poster…I remember that one well. The scar is identical, Derik. I’m telling you, it’s her.”
“Yeah, I get that. So, there’s a girl down on 39 with a scar that looks like the one Chloe Phantom has. I’m yet to be convinced. How about this - does she look like her, you know, in the face. It’s rather easier identifying someone by their facial features than by a damn scar on their abdomen!”
“Oh come on, Derik, you know the truth. She’s always altering her look. Changing hair colour, wearing contact lenses and all that. And the pictures of her over the last couple of years rarely get a good sight of her face. Plus, there are the rumours…”
“Right, the rumours,” hummed Derik playfully. “I know which one you’re referring to. This idea that she can alter her physical features using the nanites in her body. Excuse me if I refuse to believe that one. I still like to live in the real world.”
“Yeah, because you’re old,” bit Matt. “But you know what sorts of people there are out there. You can’t deny it. Have you heard of Spectre Squad?”
“Of course. They’re our most elite soldiers.”
“There you go then. Elite soldiers with nanotech augmented powers. The special forces of the WSA, with combat armour that can turn almost invisible. They call them ghosts for a reason, you know.”
“And this explains how you think Chloe Phantom can alter her physical features…how, exactly?” Derik asked sardonically.
“Well, simply because there’s weird shit out there neither of us understand. Case in point - nano-vamps.”
Derik rolled his eyes. “Now you’re going too far.”
“Why? Think about it. These nanotech soldiers need combating, right. So the crazy scientists think up some ‘special’ people to counter them. They can sense nanites in the blood, these nano-vamps, and hunt such people down. Makes perfect sense of me.”