by Graeme Hurry
Jacob vomited; the horrors around him were too much to comprehend.
A woman stepped out in front of Jacob. Scars covered her skin and she had huge black pincers instead of arms. “You killed my son.” She spat at Jacob. The wad of saliva, full of tiny red specks, landed on his face. It burned. Jacob wailed as the burning spread across his face. An insect crawled onto his eye. The red specks in the saliva were tiny fire ants.
Grash slammed his palm into Jacob’s face. “Why did you do that? Royal want’s him.” The ant’s venom spread across Jacob’s face as Grash squashed them. He screamed as pain enveloped him.
The world dipped and swayed. The colour drained, shapes blurred together and the yelling around him became a whisper. I’m dying. The release would be a welcome relief. No, you can’t let him win. He scrunched his eyes closed and shook his head. Don’t pass out. He needed to face Royal. The tyrant needed to learn he couldn’t control everyone. Someone would always resist.
He lifted his head. Hate filled Pincer’s thin black eyes. “He needs to die,” she screeched her voice high-pitched and accompanied by clicks in her throat.
“Royal decides his fate,” Ock said.
“I want to do it. He killed my son.” She lunged at Jacob, swinging a snapping pincer towards his neck. Ock let go of Jacob, stepped in front of Pincers and punched her in the face. As she staggered back dazed, Ock pulled a hatchet from his belt and buried it in her skull. He pulled the hatchet free and let the corpse fall.
For a moment the crowd was silent, before cheers erupted from all directions.
Ock waved the blood covered hatchet above his head. “Royal is the law,” he shouted, “no-one else.” A man from the crowd pulled Pincer’s corpse out of Grash and Ock’s path.
Ock grabbed Jacob’s arm and the two guards continued their journey. The crowd jeered and shouted but there were no more interruptions.
Royal’s palace stood on the other side of the courtyard. It had once been a museum but whatever beauty the building once had was gone; blood stained the brickwork and doors, razor wire surrounded the windows.
Two guards, both covered with grey scales, pulled open the doors as Ock and Grash approached. Once inside, the doors closed and cacophony of hate from the courtyard was cut off.
Tattered, blood stained canvases in broken frames hung on the walls. They had once been beautiful masterpieces and people from all over the world used to marvel at them. Before Royal changed the world, Jacob would have been appalled at such wasteful destruction.
Ock and Grash dragged him towards two large doors, the golden paint flaking. The two guards took hold of the gold handles and pushed. The hinges creaked as the doors swung open revealing a cavernous room. At the far end Royal sat on his throne, silhouetted by the huge window behind him.
To the left, Yvonne, Ryan and Jack knelt on the floor. They were bruised and bloody, and wore dirty rags. A lump grew in Jacob’s throat. For six months he hadn’t known if they were still alive. Jacob trusted them with his life and he was positive they trusted him with theirs but he had led them into disaster. He had been so desperate to kill Royal that he had rushed to attack his convoy when it had been lightly guarded. He should have known it was a trap.
Ock and Grash carried Jacob into the room. As they emerged from beneath the balcony, high pitched screeching ricocheted around the room. Jacob winced. Shivers shot through his spine at the dreadful noise.
Ock and Grash laughed.
“They’re happy to see you,” Ock said. “Why don’t you say hello?”
The guards stopped and faced the balcony. Imps filled it. The scaly, red demons crowded at the railing, their mouths wide open showing Jacob their rows of fangs and their bone tipped tongues.
Jacob tried to look away but Grash grabbed his face and pried his eyes open. Jacob’s stomach clenched at the sight of the vile creatures.
“Bring him,” Royal commanded.
Grash and Ock dragged him across the room towards Royal.
A television camera stood next to Yvonne, Jack and Ryan, the red light on it blinked. The mutant operator swivelled the camera, following Jacob. Four more cameras and operators dotted around the room, all of them tracked Jacob.
Grash and Ock stopped ten feet in front of the throne. They dropped Jacob, letting him sprawl onto the floor. Both sank to one knee and bowed their head. “You’re highness.”
Jacob pushed himself up onto his knees and raised his head.
Royal nodded at Ock and Grash. The two guards rose and took a step back.
“I need wine for this,” Royal said. “Slave.”
A woman in her mid-twenties in a low cut red dress was kneeling beside the throne. She rose, picked up a bottle of wine from a table beside the throne, poured it into a goblet and handed it to Royal. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head.
Royal took a sip of his wine. “You tried to kill me.” Royal took another drink. “I am you ruler, your president, your king, your emperor. Have you no respect for your betters?”
“You are not my better,” Jacob said.
Grash back handed Jacob’s temple. Jacob fell to the ground, his vision spinning.
Royal laughed. “I sit on a throne, I rule a kingdom full of loyal servants and slaves; you are a captured terrorist, and you think we are equals?”
Jacob pushed himself back up. “What gives you the right to rule?”
Grash drew back his arm for another swing. Royal held up an open palm, stopping him.
“What gives me the right?” Royal said. “I have an army. I have power and strength. Who has a right to rule more than I do?”
“Whoever the people chose?”
“Ha, a foolish notion the weak cling to because they cannot seize power for themselves. Is this why you tried to kill me?”
“Yes.”
Royal laughed. “I would have understood if you wanted to seize power for yourself. If you had killed me, would you have held an election for a new leader?”
“Yes.”
Royal shrugged. “Slave, stand up.”
The slave stood, faced Royal and trembled as she curtsied.
Royal rose from his throne and walked around the woman. She sobbed as he ran a hand along her shoulder. His fingers ran up her neck. He tipped her chin upwards stretching her neck. The woman recoiled from his touch.
Royal grabbed a dagger from his belt and pressed it against the slave’s throat. She let out a squeal. Her bottom lip quivered. Tears ran down her cheeks.
The imps shrieked. Ock and Grash laughed
“She didn’t even try to defend herself,” Royal said. “Yet you would let her have a say in who rules. Foolish. Rulers should be strong; they should not be servants to the meek.”
“Let her go,” Jacob said.
A small trickle of blood ran down the slave’s neck.
“I can do anything I want to her,” Royal said. He ran his tongue along her jaw and up her cheek to her temple. The slave squirmed and shivered but did not fight him.
Royal pushed her away. She fell to her knees and sobbed.
Royal pointed his knife at the slave. “She is weak therefore she serves. I am strong therefore I rule.”
“All men have weaknesses,” Jacob said.
“I don’t,” Royal shouted. “I control the greatest army the world has ever seen. I crushed nations and toppled kings.” He sat on his throne and took a drink of his wine. “Apologise.”
Jacob stared at Royal.
The muscles in Royal’s neck tightened. “Stare into a camera and apologise.”
“I’m still alive so you can make an example of me on television. You think this will stop the resistance?”
Royal scowled. “I will crush the resistance, but this will make things…quicker. You can save the lives of your foolish followers with a few simple words.”
Jacob faced the nearest camera. “Do not listen to him. He is scared of what you can achieve. This is—”
Ock’s fist pounded against Jacob’s te
mple. Jacob dropped to the floor. Pain ricocheted around his skull. The world spun around him. Shouts, shrieks and laughter bounced around the room.
Hands gripped Jacob’s shoulders and pulled him back to his kneeling position. Jacob screamed as the dislocated shoulder flared in agony.
“I’m going to give you one more chance,” Royal said. “Apologise.”
“I have nothing to apologise for,” Jacob said between grunts of pain.
Royal rolled his eyes. “Very well. Imp.”
One of the demons leapt out of the crowd and over the side of the balcony. It landed on all fours; its mouth stretched open, revealing rows of fangs.
“Apologise or it kills one of your friends,” Royal said.
Yvonne, Jack and Ryan stiffened. Jack closed his eyes began to pray.
“Apologise for your insolence,” Royal said, “tell the resistance to surrender and they will be spared.”
Jacob’s jaw tensed. His teeth ground together. His fists tightened. “No.”
Ryan and Jack’s heads snapped towards them, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open. Yvonne gave a curt nod.
“Kill,” Royal commanded.
The imp pounced on Jack. It dug its claws into his back, closed its jaws around his skull.
“No,” Jacob screamed as the imp crunched through Jack’s skull.
Yvonne and Ryan shuffled away from the bloody chaos. The demon clawed and bit through Jack, snapping his bones.
Royal lent back in his throne and laughed, his hands on his belly as it rose and fell.
Beside the throne, the slave held her hand over her gaping mouth. The colour drained from her face. “O’ god.”
Jacob faced the one camera still fixed on him. “He rules through fear and terror. We must never give into these weapons.”
“Mutate,” Royal shouted.
The imp swallowed its last mouthful of Jack and leapt at Ryan. Its bone spiked tongue shot from its mouth piercing Ryan’s chest. Ryan’s head snapped back and he convulsed. The imp retracted its tongue and the wound healed instantly.
There were snaps and cracks as his body swelled. His shoulders bulged and his jaw thickened. He threw out his arms, snapping the chain between his wrists. He held up his hands as the fingers lengthened and the nails grew into sharp blades.
The imps were Royal’s ultimate weapon. As well as being able to tear a man apart in seconds the poison they delivered through their bone tipped tongues created mutant soldiers dedicated to Royal. Without them Royal could not have seized power.
The mutated Ryan bowed to Royal. “How may I serve?”
“It is up to Jacob,” Royal said. “If he apologises, she lives.”
“Don’t do it,” Yvonne shouted. “The resistance believes in you. Do not destroy their hopes.”
“Silence,” Royal shouted.
“Thank you,” Jacob mouthed at Yvonne.
Yvonne nodded and closed her eyes. Tears seeped out from beneath the lids, rolled down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.
“Is she to live or die?” Royal asked.
Jacob stayed silent.
“Kill her,” Royal commanded.
Ryan swung his arm and sliced through Yvonne’s neck with his huge claw, severing her head.
Jacob’s chest clenched. “I’m sorry.”
Royal took a sip of his wine. “You could have saved them. Why didn’t you?”
Jacob blinked to clear the growing tears. “I will not help you destroy the hopes and dreams of the resistance.”
Royal’s mouth formed a tight line. The tendons on his neck tightened and his face reddened. He slammed his fists on the arms of his throne. “Hit him.”
Jacob’s head snapped to the side as Grash’s punched his temple. Jacob slumped against Ock’s leg, his jaw hanging loose, saliva dripping from his mouth. The room swayed.
Royal grabbed his goblet, drained it and slammed it on the table. “Refill.”
The slave rose and grabbed the bottle of wine.
Jacob watched the slave. She kept her head lowered.
“You want people to believe they can have a life as one of your slaves,” Jacob said, his words slurred. “They can’t.”
The slave poured the wine.
“Apologise,” Royal yelled.
Jacob’s head rolled from side to side. He tried to focus on Royal but didn’t have the strength to hold his head up. “I will never apologise for doing what was right. I’m only sorry it didn’t work.”
“You don’t get to decide what is right and wrong. I do.”
The room continued to spin and Jacob’s eye lids dropped.
Something splashed into Jacob’s face. His eyes shot open. Royal stood in front of him, an empty goblet dangling in his hand. Wine ran into Jacob’s mouth.
Royal walked back to the throne. “We’re not done yet.” He threw the goblet at his slave, hitting the top of her head. “Fill it.”
The slave picked up the goblet, took it to the table and poured wine into it.
“Now apologise,” Royal said.
It took all of his strength but Jacob managed to lift his head. “Fuck off.”
“How dare you? I will subject you to the worst tortures, I will-”
The slave smashed the wine bottle against Royal’s face. His head jerked back, blood, wine and glass fell to the ground.
The slave plunged the jagged remains of the bottle into Royal’s neck. “Die you bastard, die.”
Grash and Ock sprinted past Jacob. “No,” they shouted as they rushed to save their ruler.
The imps filled the hall with their high pitched, pain filled shrieks. Jacob clamped his hands to his ears. They dove off the balconies and sprinted across the room.
The woman kept stabbing Royal. The tyrant’s blood splattered over her snarling face. Ock and Grash would get her soon, but it didn’t matter; Royal would die.
The woman, a slave no longer, leapt off of Royal. She rushed towards Grash, the remains of the bottle clutched in her hand. Royal slumped on the throne. Blood dripped and spurted from his shredded face and neck. It wouldn’t be long until he bled out.
The imps collided into Jacob. He fell to the floor, wrapped his arms around his head as the imps trampled over him.
Blue flames shot up, filling the room. The light stabbed Jacob’s eyes. He clenched them shut. He expected to die. The flames would cremate him. They didn’t. They gave off no heat.
When Jacob opened his eyes, the flames had and all but one imp had vanished. The remaining imp staggered around clutching its skull. It gave one last shriek then exploded in a ball of blue flames.
What the hell is going on?
In front of the throne the woman was on top of Grash, stabbing him in the chest. He didn’t fight back. Ock lay a few feet away, sprawled face down. The cameramen and the recently mutated Ryan were all dead.
Jacob struggled to stand. “I think he’s dead.”
The woman stopped stabbing Grash. “I…” Her eyes darted to Ock’s body. “They’re dead. How?”
Jacob pointed to Royal’s corpse. “The imps died when he did, I guess his mutants did as well.”
“He’s…he’s dead. I killed him.” Tears swelled, her hands shook. “I killed him.”
Jacob smiled. “You did.” As he took a step towards her, his legs buckled.
The woman rushed towards. “Are you alright?” She held him under his uninjured arm and helped him to his feet.
“Never felt better. Royal’s dead. You managed what thousands had failed to do. Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you.”
Jacob squinted at her. “Why?”
“You made me realise I could fight back, that I didn’t have to accept being an abused slave. I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner. I could have saved your friends.”
“Think about the thousands of lives you have saved today.”
“But they didn’t have to die,” she said, “I…I let them.”
“Royal killed them, not you. You did w
hat you had to do to survive. What’s your name?”
“Adele.”
Jacob held out his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you; I’m Jacob.”
Adele shook his hand.
“Can you help me over to the window?” Jacob said.
Adele held Jacob up as best she could – his arm over her shoulders and hers around his waist – and helped him shuffle over to the window, the chains still linked between his feet and hands rattled as he moved.
Jacob and Adele stood at the window. Below them the city lay in ruins. Buildings had crumbled or burned to the ground. People lived in squalor in the sewers, only going up to the streets in search of food. Jacob had lived there, before and during Royal’s reign. It was his home.
What would become of it now? A utopia free of crime and corruption wouldn’t spring up overnight. At first things might get worse as people fought for power and resources. But for the first time in a long time Jacob could believe a brighter future was possible.
SOCIAL INTERFACE
by Nestor Delfino
Jake Talbot’s social interface woke him up thirty minutes early that morning. “Information!” he demanded, upset.
“You have received a message: ‘Your presence is required at the station immediately, Detective Talbot’,” said the SI in a soothing female voice.
“Time?” he asked, still annoyed, and a bit anxious now.
“06:30,” the SI responded, “Shall I bring the car around?”
“Yes.” Jake removed the REM scrubber cap from his head and opened his eyes. The SI noticed, and turned on the lights at fifty percent luminosity.
“Uniform!” he said, getting out of bed.
The SI gradually increased the luminosity when it sensed Jake’s eyes had already accustomed to the dull light-blue color of the room, causing him no discomfort. Then it opened the closet door, and a light-blue uniform slid to the front.