by Samuel Small
Sol: Shadows of the Past
Samuel Small
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This book is a work of fiction. Similarities to people, places, events, or things are entirely coincidental.
Stamping feet. Cries of battle. The kinetic scent of electricity that accompanies a thunderstorm. All of these things filled Leal Mile’s senses as he charged at the enemy in front of him.
Purists. Lines of them, arms outstretched and pointed toward him and his comrades. Light blue energy gathered into those outstretched hands as they coalesced into bright focal points. Leal’s whole body tensed and, knowing what would be next, he shifted on his feet, prepared to take action as soon as they launched their attack.
The explosion cracked into his ears, causing Leal to shut his eyes as he ducked. Something searing hot soared past his head, then a cry of pain from behind him followed by a loud thud. But Leal couldn’t turn to look, not now. They just launched their attack and were vulnerable, in need of more time to gather enough potent energy to attack again. Leal doubled the effort on his feet and gripped his rapier so tightly he thought his palm might bleed. With a shout he pulled it back, aiming to stab it into the panicked Purist in front of him.
And then Leal was at his desk.
Papers were hazardlessly strewn about every which way, an indication of just how busy he really was. Leal sat back in his chair and gave himself a solid smack to the face, allowing his hand to slowly slide down then hang limply at his side. The genocide was over now and had been for well over a decade. Despite that, Leal couldn’t help but slip into memories of it frequently.
There was the distinct sound of stamping feet making their way across the hallway on a direct course for his office. Leal straightened his slumping posture and rose to his feet, grasping a few papers off his desk in order to look busy. When the door flew open he glanced upward, met with a panting and shocked guard. In his panicked rush to get here the top of his uniform had become untucked, but Major Leal Miles wasn’t going to tell him to shape up now, considering how frightened he looked.
“Another attack?” Leal asked.
The wide-eyed guard nodded like a bewildered child. Leal placed the papers on his desk and walked past, giving the guard a hardy pat on the shoulder as left the room. “I’m on it.”
***
There was no body at the crime scene, only a large pool of blood. It had begun to drizzle, tainting the fresh blood with little specs of rain that twisted within the redness. It swirled like a whirlpool, then began to flow across the alleyway and out of sight. Leal allowed it to, as it wasn’t entirely relevant. They knew whose blood that was. The offender, however…
“He’s sure he didn’t make a single mark on the perpetrator? Not so much as a passing scrape to the forearm?”
Leal spoke these words into the square shaped object in his hand. Its screen shone brightly in the dark haze of the rolling gray clouds, leading Leal to squint. On the other end, a guard sat at the bedside of the injured victim, who was also a guard.
“No sir. They wielded a rapier and incredibly efficiently. They stabbed him several times before he even knew what happened.”
Leal looked at his own rapier, which was strapped along his hip. Little droplets of rain ran down its sharp metal and dropped to the wet ground below. It certainly was a weapon that was good at rush down attacks, but as he understood it very few used it nowadays. It had been a favored weapon of the prior King’s army and many guards opted to utilize broadswords and other weapons in rejection of his legacy. Personally, Leal only used his out of habit.
“And this person was very young?”
“Based on their build, yes. They wore a mask and a cloak, so the victim wasn’t able to get a good look at them, but he claimed they were on the smaller side, so likely a boy.”
The Major nodded, despite the fact that the person on the other end couldn’t see the gesture at all. If the attacker was considerably young it confirmed a suspicion he had. A young person wouldn’t be inclined to use a rapier, hell, schools that taught its use were numbered. Leal couldn’t recall even one off hand, despite being proficient with the weapon. Meaning that whoever this was had gone out of their way to use one. It was no coincidence that a rapier had been used in the attack: it was a statement. One of undying loyalty to Mad King Arnold.
Leal couldn’t help but grit his teeth in rage.
The sky flashed and the rain picked up, creating a dull hiss on the concrete as it drenched the coat that Leal wore over his uniform. But his rage made it seem to evaporate upon touch, so much so that he didn’t even bother to place his hood up. From a distance, a roar of thunder bellowed, echoing across the city like a charging monster.
Then the pelting of rain halted and the sound muffled above his head. Confused as to how this was, Leal looked up. Towering over him was a stocky man in a Republic uniform that was tight fitting against his large figure, holding an umbrella above Leal as he smiled awkwardly.
“What do you say we head out of here? I’ve got a case I want to discuss with you.”
“Sure thing, General.”
General Iroh walked Leal out of the wet alley, keeping the umbrella above his head to keep dry, and moved around the twisting streets of the Republic before stopping at the back of an abandoned shop. It had seen better days, with wooden planks over the windows aimed to prevent further harm, even though the damage appeared to be done. Several holes had been kicked into the structure, glass laid along the ground at Leal’s feet, and the door was partially concaved. General Iroh wasn’t focused on the building at all though. He glanced from side to side, his eyes following pedestrians as they crossed the street, but none seemed interested in the two military men at all.
“You going to tell me what’s so important that you pulled me away from an attempted murder scene?” Leal asked.
“An actual murder,” Iroh said. But that didn’t make sense to Leal. The Republic was by no means teeming with crime but murders weren’t exactly uncommon, the sheer vastness of the city’s population made them rather commonplace. So why was Leal being pulled from a case regarding planned attacks on guards to deal with an everyday homicide?
Of course, General Iroh had been in Leal’s position not too long ago and must’ve known exactly what he was thinking, as he faced Leal and nodded sternly. “I know you’d love to investigate this rebel vigilante, but this case can’t go unsolved for much longer. It’s being kept from the public eye due to its sensitive nature, but only so many bodies can pop up before we have to make an official statement. Your talents are needed here, Leal.”
“Sensitive nature,” Leal said as he came closer. “What do you mean sensitive nature?”
“It’s...not something I care to explain here. Come to the morgue tomorrow morning and you’ll know.”
Leal didn’t want to go to sleep tonight worrying about what the hell this was all about, but Iroh’s stern gaze told him that knowing would keep him up far longer than not knowing. It wasn’t a good idea to press the General, especially considering his combat prowess and build, so Leal simply sighed and agreed. “Morgue, tomorrow morning. I’ll be there.”
2
The poorly-lit morgue was so cold that wisps of smoke accompanied Leal’s breath. Despite this cold, water still dripped from the ceiling, pooling into a tiny puddle in the corner of the room. That can’t be sanitary, considering the function of this place, Lea
l thought as he stepped further inside, creating ripples in the thin pool at his feet. He’d only been here a handful of times, as his job usually ended once the crime scene was processed. Someone else was in charge of autopsies, that person being-
There was a crash in a room in the back. A young boy, no more than fifteen, exited that room and walked toward Leal. He wore a grease stained lab coat, his hair an absolute mess. His curious eyes, which were magnified beneath his goggles, glanced all over the room. “Who are you? You’re not Schwartz,” Leal said.
“You’ll find that I very much am Schwartz,” the boy answered, shooting an energetic hand out to shake. Leal grasped it hesitantly, finding the boy’s hand especially clammy. “Schwartz, Loid Schwartz, inventor extraordinaire! You must have been looking for my father, however he is out currently. Off to prepare a lecture for your guards, if I’m not mistaken.”
Still caught off guard by the child’s presence at the morgue, Leal gave his name softly while staring at him. The kid seemed to get why Leal was so confused and brought a hand to the back of his head bashfully. “You see, I’m working on a new invention. They tend to be... unstable, so I need to be somewhere that isn’t going to catch fire quickly. It’s damp here so…”
“I see…” Leal replied. Now that it was mentioned Leal thought he heard something about a young weapons inventor who invented half the technology in the Republic. Only this boy, Loid, must have taken Leal’s look of observation the wrong way, as he raised a finger proudly upward then parted his lips to begin a presumable lecture.
“It’s a device that gathers Sol in the atmosphere, then launches it all in one powerful blast. I’ve already perfected items that gather and fire Pure Sol, but now I’m trying to figure out a way to transfer other Sols, like fire or water, into Pure Sol, so that it can then be fired. It’s a truly difficult process but-”
“I’m gonna have to stop you there,” Leal said with a raise of the hand. “I can only understand so much of this and I don’t know anything about transferring Pure Sol or any of that. Besides, I’m here on official business.” He gave the kid a jaded stare that sent most adult guards running, and he jumped up.
“Right, right,” he said as he returned to the room in the back. “I’ll leave you to it then.” The door slammed and there was some shifting inside, but it soon settled. With the kid out of the way Leal faced the wall, where several large metal cabinets were built in. Corpses laid within those files, frozen in order to prevent decomposition. No doubt there were some of his guards among them.
“Leal, I see you’re already here.” Closing the door behind him, his hat in hand, was General Iroh. He looked around the area for Schwartz, but he was already gone. Seeing this, the general brought a hand to his head. “I told that bastard to be here. You know how he is when he gets into his lectures. This one’s crazy, about demons or something,” he said as he made his way to the lockers. He began to count from left to right, then stopped. With a nod he grabbed the metal handle, staring at Leal. “You ready?”
“Yeah?” Leal replied. He’d seen plenty of bodies, hell he’d created plenty of bodies, so he didn’t see what the General was so concerned about. This murder must have been pretty brutal if General Iroh thought it might shake him up. General Iroh pulled the cabinet open and the numb scent of decomposition hit Leal’s nostrils. As well as something else… a slight burn smell. Like…
The body in front of Leal was pale, their white lips spread open in a permanent scream of horror. It was a guard alright, the black and red uniform of the Republic still dawned proudly, though a large hole had been seared through it. Their entire stomach, in fact. Leal could see the other end of the metal tray, the light in the ceiling reflecting off its smooth surface, through the hole. But the hole wasn’t what surprise Leal, or even the burn itself, it was the area around it. The skin looked like melted wax: no dark char marks were present around the edges like with fire. This was a thermal burn.
“Pure Sol…” Leal found the words drift out of his lips. At his side, General Iroh nodded his approval, his lips pulled in a disappointed frown. “So this is why…”
“Why I need you and only you to investigate. Of those with the qualifications, you’re the only one who fought in the… conflict. Leave the rebel investigation to Braxton. You’re needed here.”
Through clenched teeth and fists, Leal managed to spit out, “But why now?”
General Iroh didn’t respond and took a few steps across the room, his boots falling heavily on the tiling, but Leal wasn’t focused on it. His eyes were locked on the hole made in that body and the twisted face of horror that faced ceiling, like the victim had died of fright instead of a blast to the chest. With his attention so focused on his fallen comrade, Leal was only dimly aware that General Iroh had stopped somewhere near the center of the room. “I don’t know. Maybe an orphan who’s finally of age to exact their vengeance.” He said Leal’s name sharply, prompting the Major to turn his attention away from the corpse and to his superior. “Regardless of their motivation, they’re killing our guards and that needs to stop.” He placed his hand on the slab he stood over and grasped a vanilla folder. Waving it in his hand, he continued. “There’ve already been three murders. One or two more and we’ll have to make a press release and with the rebels already stirring the pot we don’t need anything extra that’ll make it boil over.” In one swift flick of his wrist he tossed the folder to Leal, who caught it between his pointed and middle finger. Strangely, the papers within seemed to carry a decent amount of weight, no doubt due to the gravity of its contents. He looked to his superior and nodded.
3
It took the rest of the day for Leal to go over the murder files. It wasn’t that there was an excessive amount of information there, only three files consisting of a few pages each. It was the images that flashed in his mind. The smells that wafted through his nostrils. The screams that filled his ears.
There were bodies slumped against buildings in every photograph, a streak of red running down the wall. Each had been murdered in an alley, with the old steel factory looming in the background. Every time his eyes would trail to that building for a closer look they would flip back to that distinct burn mark present on each victim and his head would fill with all of the others he’d witnessed. Guards sitting in pools of their own blood, grasping at legs that were no longer there. Green grass sprayed crimson, lashing out from the wind. Limp, simmering bodies. Leal could see it all as if he was there right now and he swatted the papers off his desk in one giant swoop, hoping they’d knock away the memories, then grasped his head so tight that his nails drew blood.
He shouldn’t focus on the past now, but the present. That was what would lead him to the conclusion. That was what would stop this. The thoughts eased his head and Leal kicked out while slumping his shoulders, sending his chair rolling back a few feet. Three victims, all guards, he thought as he stared at the sliding walls of his office. But are there any similarities besides that? Leal glanced at the papers that were scattered across the floor when the rolling chair scraped to a stop, then reached down and grabbed them. He shifted through each file, taking note of the demographic details around each victim.
Brian Republic. West. Amy Rose. West. Alex Cobblepot. West. He raised an eyebrow, then scanned over the information again. Every single victim was a low-ranking guard from the west section of the city. Meaning that whoever this was, they were targeting that branch of the guards specifically. Leal’s eyes, which had been narrowed in concentration, widened with fear. The attacks all occurred at night and were only a few days apart. It was possible that they’d attack this very night so-
Leal sprang from his chair and out of his office then rushed down the hall. Before he knew it he was sprinting through the city’s streets, his large boots clacking against the concrete with each heavy step. As he pumped one arm as fast as he could Leal unclipped his comp, scanning through the portraits until he came to a face he recognized. Still running, Leal held the comp to
his ear, only to be met with a dull buzzing: the sound of a call being ignored. Only Braxton was bound to be on duty right now, so not answering his call was suspicious as hell.
Leal put extra emphasis on his run, not liking the feeling bubbling in his gut which seemed to jostle with each footfall. His lungs heaved in the night air as he stormed through the city, but he soon realized that he was trying to find a needle in a haystack. Or a murder in a city with population rivaling the entire west half of the continent. He gritted his teeth and skidded to a stop, spraying pebbles about the road. A flickering streetlight to his left seemed to pulse in tandem with his beating heart as Leal tried to recall the information in those files.
All of the attacks were during the nighttime, he knew that much, as well as in the west part of the city. But that left so much area to cover. He closed his eyes and tried to think back to the locations of the crime scenes. Dark alleyways riddled with trash and blood flashed in his mind. Scoffing, he shook his head. That wasn’t going to help either, there were too many alleys to count. He had to think of something common between them all, anything. And then it hit him.
That structure, looming in the background.
It was present in all of them, Leal was sure of it. He had gotten a feeling that the steel factory was important, but his eyes always seemed to drift back to the injuries no matter how much he willed them not to. It was a huge building true, one that could be seen clearly from various locations across the city, but it was a huge building that was in the background of every single picture. His will renewed, Leal shifted directions and headed for that area.
The first couple of alleyways Leal stopped at had no luck. Just narrow concrete, filled with dumpsters and garbage. But as Leal ran to the next alley something occurred to him. He hadn’t run into a single guard yet despite it being night, when crime and patrols were increased. Dammit, did Braxton hire some trainees who were slacking off? Leal was about to smash his fist into a wall at his side, when a voice screeched from his hip, causing him to stop at the last second.
