The Phantom Chronicles BoxSet

by T. C. Edge

  And to those questions, Chloe still had no answers.

  Right now, however, it didn’t matter, and she had more pressing concerns to consider. She was still in the jaws of the enemy. LA was the most powerful city on the continent. The entire place was swarming with peacekeepers and other soldiers, with checkpoints covering all major routes in and out. And while Chloe had managed to get in easily by way of her well crafted identities and unique set of skills, getting out wouldn’t be so simple.

  After all, when she’d come here a few months ago, no one could have possibly expected it. After tonight, however, she’d shoot straight back up to the top of the nation’s most wanted list, and she was acutely aware that it would take no time at all to tighten up all routes from the city and region, making any way out fraught with danger.

  As she began hurrying through the fog, she needed to make a swift decision. If she attempted to leave right now, at this very moment, she might just be able to make it out before the fist closed tight. It would be speculative, but possible. Her presence at Sub-Tower 12 would now be beyond doubt, and the guards there will have alerted the higher authorities. To confirm, the city would surely send investigators and would vigilantly check the footage. She had a tiny window before they made the judgement to close the city’s routes and trap her in its net.

  That window was closing fast. She had, of course, considered just what she’d do in this eventuality, and knew that heading east was the best bet. She could ‘borrow’ a car, hightail it to the lesser watched checkpoints south or east of here, and fight her way through if she had to. She might even be able to hijack an airborne transport, though such a thing was unlikely. Given the state of affairs, all aerial transportation had been suspended for civilians. The skies were once again under military and police jurisdiction only. Freedoms across the continent were being squeezed all over again.

  Overall, however, it all seemed rather risky, and so she considered her second option to be more favourable. Tonight, her cover had been busted wide open, and her false identity of Layla Trayfoot was no longer going to get her anywhere. It would be blacklisted, and if she wanted to slip back under the radar, she needed a brand new one.

  And, thankfully, she knew right where to go.

  Turning northward, Chloe took a deep breath. A fair way back now, she could hear a series of sirens flashing through the night, more peacekeepers quickly summoned to secure the area around Sub-Tower 12. The net would spread wider every minute. She needed to get beyond the industrial districts and move closer to the centre before she got caught within it.

  It was an odd thought, and perhaps an odd move too.

  But in order to get free of this place, Chloe needed to first venture deeper into the lion’s den.

  If the industrial south of LA, with its deep earthscrapers and colossal warehouses, was characterised by a thick smog and eerie quiet during the silent hours of night, the same certainly couldn’t be said for the central residential quarters. In the downtown region, in fact, a bustling air took hold, the city’s evenings busier perhaps than its days, a sense of reckless abandon inhabiting its many denizens even now as the war raged on.

  The reasoning was simple. LA was, quite frankly, too well protected and too powerful to ever come under assault. It had cemented its status now as the continent’s most influential city, and through various measures had been concluded as being unbreachable and unreachable by any invasion force.

  The people here had no fear of their neighbours, no fear of the Northern Democratic States. As far as they saw it, they had won the civil war, biting off the biggest chunk of the US and, ever since then, had been the dominant government on the continent. While other cities and capitals chose to obey a heightened sense of fear, Los Angeles, at its core, remained a place of jubilation. The people lived free here, and liked to show it. Their sense of patriotism was not to be outdone.

  And, on top of that, President Abraham Arnold, the leader of the nation, liked to keep it that way. Illusion, Chloe knew, could be a powerful thing. And here, the illusion of freedom, from control and fear and the threat of war, blanketed the city like a veil.

  As such, while other cities often remained under curfew at night, in LA the same couldn’t be said. The people would indulge their passions and desires, bolstering the economy with lavish spending. From the wealthier regions to the hilly north, to the poorer parts upon the sunken basin at the core, a sense of pride in the city remained in full force, and the people chose to spend their nights at play, without concern for the future.

  It wasn’t always the case, however. Only through a treaty of nuclear disarmament could anyone, wherever they lived, do so beyond the veil of concern at what might come. Many years before, a heightening of tensions brought the world to the edge of a conflict that might see it to its end. Hands were stayed and tensions fell away, yet in the shadows the threat of terrorism stirred.

  When a terrorist cell, proclaiming the death of civil liberties, managed to get hold of a nuclear weapon and blew a European city off the face of the earth, the world faced the threat together. Over the years, nuclear disarmament became a topic that couldn’t be ignored. Eventually, the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty, a global initiative to rid the world of such weapons, came about. And the globe gave a long sigh of relief.

  Of course, no peace would last, and the removal of the threat of mutually assured destruction gave birth to other forms of war. New weapons were fashioned, not those of mass destruction, but of a new variety where foot soldiers once again became the tool of warring governments. Nanotech design, front and centre in this new world, created men and women who could perform magical feats. Biotechnology, robotics, genetic engineering, and various other disciplines strode forward into the future.

  A future where science started to become indistinguishable from magic.

  Where odd new creations began to creep from secret labs.

  Within this new scientific arms race, measures were taken to further bolster national defences. To battle the threat of any possible resurgence and evolution of nuclear warfare, defence systems took precedence. Long range missile strikes became ineffective. Only ‘dirty’ bombs, or those triggered from the ground, could deal real damage. Even the growing concern of biological weapons began to fade with the creation of nanites capable of clearing toxic waste, rendering fallout a mute issue even should it occur.

  Truly, the future was being fought in the science lab. Scientists became rockstars, famous for their creations. And despite his many wondrous achievements, Professor Remus Phantom, one of the most celebrated of all, became primarily known for a creation of his, both natural and augmented.

  His daughter, Chloe.

  Now, she stood near the heart of the enemy stronghold, wondering just what the hell she was doing. She’d managed to rush free of the industrial districts, slipping past several more units of peacekeepers as they worked to enlarge the cordon, and was now entering into the bustling urban centre of the city.

  Here, upon the flat valley between the mountains and the sea, the city of LA had been shaped and reshaped over the years. Once a downtown district used for business and governance, with wide streets and only a smattering of skyscrapers, the city centre now rose both high and low, huge towers launching skyward, and others digging so deep.

  The centre of LA was a mix of the old and new, of the surging skyline and the hidden, sometimes luxurious subterranean towers that continued to be built both here and elsewhere across the continent. Now, nearly as many people lived beneath the ground as above it. You could almost feel them as you walked upon the surface, the energy of the masses, of the systems that gave them clear air, clean water, light and heat, bubbling up from below and creating a hum that spread through your feet.

  It was a bizarre feeling for Chloe, sensitive as she was to electrical signals and waves. Those who lived here had no doubt grown used to it. For her, it was an alien world. Not since leaving New York had she been in a place so populous, and even the great city t
o the east didn’t quite compare in scale and scope.

  Given its power and natural geographic protections, LA had grown vast and unimpeded. A great portion of those living in the Western States had migrated here, seeking its protection and the continued promises of following the old ‘American dream’. Here, unlike anywhere else, that lie still held some weight.

  Between the tall towers and deep earthscrapers, networks of tighter alleys had grown up. The place was well lit in hues of various colours, though certain pathways became dark and brooding. As with any place of such dense population, crime had become widespread, conducted by powerful gangs who controlled various regions within the city’s core. Territories were often divided between overground and underground areas, and was mostly run and controlled by the different groups.

  It was, in a way, official, and as with the blind eye given to criminal activities in the pit, the same was true here. The authorities let it run, even sending representatives to help manage it all themselves. It was corruption on a high level, though something the people didn’t grumble about. In a way, certain types of organised crime had become acceptable. In a continent ravaged by war, there were worse things out there.

  Of course, Chloe was a criminal herself, and in her case, the authorities were taking note. It was ironic, really. She’d grown up a good girl, with no inclination towards crime or vice or anything untoward. Only being chased and hunted had forced her hand, turned her to a killer who’d take life to save her own, who’d steal to stay alive.

  She was a product of her world. It was the very people who were hunting her, who made her what she was.

  Now, Chloe had few allies and few friends, and trusted no one, just as her dad her warned her. Aside from Remus, she had no true companion, but there were certain people out there whose help she occasionally had to accept and seek out. One such man lived here, in the sprawling urban jungle of LA, a man who liked to live below the radar as she did. Who was intimately involved in the city’s criminal fraternity.

  Chloe had dealt with him in the past through necessity, though had never ventured here. She’d met him beyond the city on a few occasions, most recently three months ago before she crossed the threshold to the industrial districts.

  He was a man named Dax, though that probably wasn’t his real name. An acceptable and necessary evil who fixed Chloe up with her false identities, who gave her important information that she might otherwise never get. He was a purveyor of secrets and stealth, and both were valuable to Chloe.

  She didn’t fully trust him, but she most certainly needed him.

  And right now, she hoped to find him in generous mood.

  9

  Chloe stood at the exit of a gloomy alley, her cap low on her forehead and hair arranged to offer further concealment to her face. While the investigation began over at the pit, Chloe was fully aware that it wouldn’t take too long for word to spread here about her sighting.

  No one, of course, would suspect her of venturing this way - they’d assume her only recourse would be to escape the city as soon as possible - yet even a mention of her name would be enough to get people curious. If they had clear footage of her face and the current look she was sporting, she could swiftly find herself spotted.

  She had to act fast, and right now all she was dealing with was an address. Dax had told her that, if she needed his help while in the city, she could find him right here. While she remained inherently distrustful of anyone, Dax had proven to be worthy of some faith. After all, he could quite easily have tried to take her in himself, or at least laid a trap to that effect, in order to claim the reward.

  So far, he’d done no such thing. He had earned some level of trust from her. And, well, she didn’t have much choice now in any case.

  Across the street, a flickering neon sign was a rare light down this shaded alley. It was a sign for a ‘living tattoo parlour’ named Ink-Alive, a trend that had been growing in popularity over the last few years. These new-age tattoos had the ability to move around within certain areas of the body, changing form and even performing a short moving picture, depending on the complexity of the work.

  Chloe looked at the address on the street once more with a frown. This was definitely the place he’d told her about.

  Must be a cover, she thought.

  Stepping from the shade, she ventured through the flowing sea of bodies working up and down the lane, and straight towards the door. A couple of questionable figures were bookending the entrance outside, dark and ominous tattoos writhing on their thickly muscled arms.

  Chloe glanced at one such tattoo and saw a skull-headed figure in leather jacket and pants, brandishing a great axe, roaring and swinging the blade at an incoming horde of zombies. It swung wildly upon the man’s arm, smiting all those who came its way.

  An odd image to permanently add to your flesh, Chloe imagined. Though looking at the man’s deepset eyes, craggy beard, and death-metal attire, the living tattoo appeared quite congruous with the rest of his grim aesthetic.

  The size of the men, however, suggested their purpose here. They were bouncers. Security. Chloe could see the shape of a holster beneath one of their leather vests, and the clear sign of bulging at the hip that had the shape of a concealed firearm on the other. Around here, hiring security at any place of business was common practice, and given Dax’s secret endeavours, doubly important.

  Reaching the man with the skull and zombie tattoo, Chloe stopped. He angled his bearded chin down, and Chloe caught glimpse of another tattoo sneaking off on the side of his face and disappearing to the back of his shaven skull.

  “Impressive,” she found herself saying. “I like the tats. Best I’ve seen.”

  The man stared at her for a moment. She never much liked that, but knew that the latest footage of her current appearance won’t have spread quite yet. She trusted Dax - well, partially, at least - but certainly didn’t trust his security.

  “Can I take a look inside?” she asked. “I’m considering getting some work done.”

  The man’s ice-cold stare lasted a moment. Then, slowly, he looked to his colleague guarding the other side of the door, and the two oversized men burst out laughing.

  “This ain’t no place for little girls like you,” he crackled. “Run on home now to mummy and daddy. We don’t do tattoos of unicorns and sparkles here.”

  Chloe stood her ground. She was used to being underestimated. It rarely went well for those who didn’t take her seriously.

  “Is the owner in?” she asked firmly.

  The man’s laughing lips flattened out.

  “Ain’t no business of yours, girl.”

  “It is, actually. I’d like to tell him how rude his bouncers are.”

  The two men linked eyes again, semi-amused.

  “Rude. You hear that, Bruno? We’re rude, apparently.”

  The other man leaned in.

  “We’re more than rude, sweetheart.” He drew aside his leather vest, revealing his gun. “You ever shot one of these before?”

  “Once or twice,” Chloe said flatly.

  Her adrenaline was starting to flow, causing her fingers to tingle. It was a response she had a hard time controlling when engaging in any confrontation like this. Already, the first signs of electricity were threatening to spark, the tips of her fingers starting to glow a pale white. She bunched her hands up into fists to hide them, which only got the men laughing louder.

  “Stop laughing.” Chloe’s voice was a low growl now. “Or you’ll regret it.”

  Her words were poorly chosen. The men howled their enjoyment. Chloe’s anger rose. It was a problem that had become increasingly hard to handle sometimes. People had been seriously hurt on the back of it.

  She shut her eyes tight, and could feel Remus in her inner jacket pocket hovering about. Though she essentially controlled him, and they were one and the same, Remus had his own personality too. He was her protector, and would try to calm her in situations like this. Just as her father once did.


  Her little nanobot buddy was pressing at her chest, trying to command her attention. The distraction was enough. She opened her eyes and looked down, and saw him buzzing about in the shadows of her clothing.

  “It’s OK, buddy,” she whispered. “I’m…calm.”

  “And who are you talking to now,” laughed Bruno. “Think we got a cracker on our hands here, Dale!”

  Bruno and Dale, two completely obtuse men of utter ignorance, laughed again. Their roaring voices spread one way and the other down the dark street, and Chloe began to lose her cool once more. Their stupidity was drawing eyes. She didn’t like eyes…

  Her fists re-bunched, and her sparkling blue irises turned to icy daggers.

  Say one more thing, she thought. One more damn thing.

  Her continued descent into rage was, unfortunately, only giving the men more pleasure. It was natural, really. She was just a young girl of regular height and slim build, facing off against these two hulking morons. The contrast was amusing enough.

  If only they knew who I really am.

  Oh, how tempted she was to tell them. To show them. Their smiles wouldn’t last long after that. She’d tear them clean off their ugly, dumb faces.

  As her thoughts went dark, however, the men’s laughter suddenly stopped. It didn’t do so because of anything she did, but because of a voice that spread from the back, through the open door and into the parlour.

  “Now now, men, don’t antagonise our prospective customers.”

  Chloe turned her eyes to the opening, and saw a short figure approach. He was of slim build, and bland sartorial tastes. As far as Chloe could see, the man never wore anything but dark grey. His countenance didn’t change much either. He always had an easy way about him, making him quite approachable. For a man who worked with secrets, the ability to form bonds of trust was quite important.