Legacy

by Travis Brett

  At the last second, Roman tossed the needle between his hands and struck with his left.

  There was a blur of movement and Roman’s attack met empty air. Fuck, he’s fast. Even for an Adrenalite. Roman leapt to the side, narrowly dodging Burrstone’s counter-blow. He retaliated with a strike to the chest, but Burrstone spun out the way, regaining his feet.

  Roman fell into a defensive stance, grounding himself.

  Burrstone picked up a table and swung it.

  The wood slammed into Roman, driving him to the ground. The next thing he knew, Burrstone was on top of him. Roman punched, but Burrstone grabbed his wrist and pinned it against the floor.

  With his free hand, Roman seized a glass tankard and smashed it into Burrstone’s face. Broken glass and booze went everywhere. Burrstone’s grip loosened and Roman rolled away. Shards of glass scratched at his back. He stumbled to his feet, gasping for breath. The stench of beer and blood stung at his senses.

  Sounds of fighting behind him. Caleb screamed.

  He turned around. Caleb was on the ground, blood pouring from his nose, and Burrstone was charging towards Roman.

  The first rule of fighting an Adrenalite — never let yourself get hit. Roman ducked, Burrstone’s fist flying above him. Turning out of the way of a kick, he retreated a step, waiting for his chance. Burrstone threw two sharp jabs. Roman whirled aside, leaving Burrstone’s flank exposed. He lashed out, defoxication needle aimed for his opponent’s shoulder. But Burrstone was too quick — in a blur, he dodged and struck back with a punch to the chest.

  Pain exploded in Roman’s ribs. The room spun upside down. Tables flew past. He fell towards the wall, and with a crunch that resonated through his bones, his flight met an abrupt end.

  Roman felt his world fading to black. The throbbing pain began to weaken, the shouting grew distant.

  “Uh . . . Hey, Old man . . .”

  It felt like a soft cushion was squashed inside Roman’s skull.

  “. . . you think this might be a good time . . .”

  A high-pitched voice. The voice of a boy.

  “ . . .to, you know, let me have a turn . . . ? Please?”

  Roman hated that voice.

  “Ah fuck it . . . Roman!”

  Pain seared across his cheek, pulling Roman back to consciousness. He was crumpled against the wall with Sparks crouched over him. The boy’s thin face beamed with excitement. The tattoo on his neck was written in bold like a warning. SX37. One of his unnaturally long arms was already beginning to reach into Roman’s coat.

  Roman slapped the hand away. Fear mingled with the pain, along with a sense of finality — this was it, this is was why Sparks was here. Couldn’t put off the inevitable forever.

  No. Not yet, you don’t need—

  Caleb’s form flew across the hall, his bulk smashing a table clean in half as he landed.

  —Yeah, I think we’re pretty desperate.

  He pulled out the needle filled with adrenaline. Sparks eyed it greedily, rubbing his palms together.

  “You have to promise me,” Roman said. “You’re only going to fight the target. Swear it.”

  “Uh-huh. Beat up the ugly bald dude. I got it.”

  Roman groaned. His hand was shaking. The voice in the back of his mind screamed to throw the needle away. Nothing good ever came from activating an Adrenalite.

  “Um . . . I don’t want to rush you or anything but . . .”

  Burrstone approached. He walked slowly, confident in his victory. His blue glow made the air around him shimmer.

  Nothing for it. Roman jabbed the needle into Sparks forearm and pressed down on the plunger. The boy’s chest began to glow. It was a darker, richer tone than Burrstone’s, pulsing with wild, frantic flashes. Sparks jumped to his feet.

  “Hey poppet!” the boy yelled. “Why don’t we let these old geezers have a rest while we have ourselves a real fight?”

  Burrstone paused mid-step, confused. “You’re with them? An Adrenalite working for the ministry?”

  “Fuck no. I’m a freelancer, bitch.”

  Roman reached underneath him, feeling the reassuring grip of his revolver. Five shots left. More than enough to take them both down. If they were distracted.

  “You’re a traitor!” Burrstone yelled.

  Sparks bounced on the balls of his feet, arms swinging in erratic motion. “I’m a fighter. And the best one in this city. Here, let me show you.”

  “You’re just a dog.”

  Sparks snickered. “Oh, you have no idea.” He leapt at Burrstone, crossing the gap in an instant.

  The two became a blur, a glowing mass of fists and feet. Burrstone stood his ground, blocking blow after blow as Sparks danced around him, laughing, throwing punches too fast to count. As one fist struck the other was already preparing a follow-up attack, yet he never left himself vulnerable for counter-attacks. Sparks flipped in the air, one fist swinging while his other arm blocked. Burrstone went to grab a flailing leg, but Sparks was too fast and pulled back at the last moment.

  Roman watched with begrudging awe. Damn, he’s good. Even better than I remember. Sparks’ movements looked risky, even random, but there was a pattern beneath the madness. Roman couldn’t figure it out, but he sensed it. This was a dance Sparks had perfected. This was his art.

  Burrstone was on the defensive, arms raised in front of him like shields. He retreated one step, then two steps. A kick from Spark caught him in the hip and he stumbled. He was becoming desperate. It was only a matter of time before he would be goaded into attacking.

  With a cry of frustration, Burrstone swung a right hook, using his entire body for momentum. Sparks disappeared in a blur, ducking to the side of Burrstone. He whooped in victory.

  Roman didn’t see the blow. He only heard the crunch and saw Burrstone soar across the room, crashing into a table and breaking it in half. Two men who had been cowering behind it screamed and jumped aside, scrambling for cover further away.

  Sparks laughed. “Is that all you’ve got? You’re the one who’s a disgrace.”

  Burrstone scrambled to his feet as Sparks charged again.

  A glint of metal a couple yards in front of Roman — his defoxican needle. Caught beneath a chair, but not crushed. He crawled forward and seized it. There was enough in it to deactivate both of them if he could only get close enough.

  Tan sat at the top of the stairs, silently observing the fight. Caleb had got to his feet and leaned against the bar, breathing heavily. It was strange for Roman to see his team do nothing but watch, but what else could they do? This was a fight for monsters. Not men.

  Another crunch. Burrstone crashed into the middle of the hall, blood pouring from his shoulder, nose, and ears. He landed only two steps from Roman, stunned. Roman jumped forward. He drove his defoxican needle forward—

  Burrstone caught him by the wrist. The Adrenalite gave a cruel smile while his other hand lashed out and grabbed Roman by the throat, inhuman strength tightening around his windpipe.

  Roman tried to pull away, but the grip was too strong. Fire burnt in his throat. Burrstone’s face swam in his vision.

  An arrow suddenly tore into the arm holding Romans wrists, straight through the bicep. Burrstone screamed.

  Roman swung his free hand onto his right and pushed down with the last of his strength. Burrstone’s arm folded and the defoxican needle buried itself in his glowing chest. The blue lines which extended halfway down Burrstone’s arms began to retreat into the centre glow. The grip around Roman’s neck loosened and he pulled himself free.

  One down, now onto—

  Sparks stood over him. “Why’d you go and ruin the fun, old man?”

  Roman stared into the boy’s dark green eyes, the reflection from his chest’s radiance made them shine. Blood dripped off the boy's fists. Seeing Sparks so close, after seeing the quick violence he was capable of, Roman panicked. He imagined Sparks attacking him, or, even worse, attacking Tan, Caleb or Ruby.

  Instinct took
over, and Roman reached for his revolver.

  Of course, it wasn’t there.

  The hulking form of Caleb rose up behind Sparks, a needle held in one hand. He injected the defoxican into the boy's shoulder. Sparks didn't react. The glow from his chest began to fade with each pulse. Roman’s breath slowly steadied and his panic receded. Sparks' eyes never left Roman, but his expression was unreadable – was he angry? Upset?

  Was he aware that Roman had been about to kill him?

  Roman hoped not.

  He turned away, unable to hold the boy’s gaze. Beneath him, Burrstone rolled on the ground, moaning. A pool of blood rapidly spread beneath him. He coughed and reached for the arrow in his arm, pulling it out with a scream.

  “Whoa there mate.” Tan appeared beside him, pulling off his shirt and wrapping it around the gaping hole in Burrstone’s arm. “You’re a lot less valuable to us if you bleed to death.”

  Ruby walked down the stairs in front of them, her bow slung across her shoulders, quiver hanging from her hips. Roman smiled. “Thanks,” he managed to croak from his aching throat.

  “If you ever do something so reckless again, I’ll grant your death wish and just shoot you instead.”

  “You weren’t too far from it this time.”

  “I never miss, remember?”

  “You . . .” Burrstone moaned. He pointed the blood-stained arrow towards Roman, who eyed it warily, but Burrstone’s reach was nowhere near enough to threaten him. “. . . I wish I could be there to watch when Candle kills you.”

  Roman blinked. “Candle?”

  Burrstone coughed up blood. “Death to the Captain. Death to the Ministry. Death before defeat.”

  Burrstone spun the arrow around and pulled it into his own chest, straight to this heart. Blood sprayed. Someone screamed. And Burrstone died.

  Roman stared, stunned. An Adrenalite had never killed themselves before, so why now?

  And who the hell was Candle?

  Death to the Captain . . .

  The Captain. Juliette. The most powerful woman in Legacy, and, in Roman's honest opinion, a complete piece of shit. She was the last person he wanted to see.

  But he wanted answers, and one thing was for sure: he wasn't getting any from Burrstone.

  03

  Dawn was breaking as Roman marched through the crowded streets, Tan and Ruby just behind him. The growing light did nothing to brighten his mood — the weight in his chest grew with each step towards Reformation Square. He considered his options for getting an audience with Juliette. He could ask politely, he supposed, but what were the chances of that working? Not fucking likely, he reckoned. His best option would be to get to her, without consent, and demand she answer his questions.

  Skyscrapers loomed above, cutting giant shadows in the morning sunlight. These were the temples of the Ancients. Banks. Hotels. Offices. Little remained now but steel skeletons. I wonder which will last the longest, Roman wondered, humanity, or the towers?

  They reached the first district — the centre of Legacy. Here the sidewalks were clustered with vendors selling tattered clothes, cigarettes, rusted tools, knives, and meat. They all claimed their food was mutation-free, but Roman spotted many roast pigs which had more than the standard four legs. Shouts from haggling customers clashed with the calls of vendors advertising their wares. A dozen scents clogged the air; cooking meat; spices; smoke; sweat. It was enough to make Roman gag. He resisted the urge to run back to the outskirts. It may have been filthier there, but at least there weren’t so many damn people.

  A one-armed beggar sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, staring blankly at pedestrians passing him by. He didn’t look hopeful for charity, nor did he receive it. Roman wondered how the city’s mass of beggars survived at all. Most likely they turned to burglary once night rolled around — which was, after all, a far more persuasive form of charity.

  Tan strode up beside Roman. “Reckon I could barter a leg of ham from one of these fine merchants, in exchange for some of the meat we brought?”

  Roman glanced at the sackcloth bag slung across Tan’s shoulders. The fabric did little to hide the shape of the body inside. “I think most merchants wouldn’t hesitate to sell him off as beef.”

  “Wouldn’t call him premium stock though. He was a stringy bastard, after all. The meat will be tough as Ruby, but a lot less pretty.”

  From Roman’s other side, Ruby saluted Tan with her middle finger. “And how much do you think I would get for your corpse?”

  “A small fortune, love. I’ve always been told that my body is very desirable.”

  The crowds moved sluggishly. In Legacy, there was rarely a need to get anywhere quickly. At this time, nearly everybody was heading out of the city for their jobs – to the grain fields or the livestock yards at the edge of the city limits, on the north and eastern side. Others would be heading for the cotton factories, or the steelworks, to the west. Although nearly all labourer jobs were just outside Legacy, the majority of people lived in the city centre, choosing the long commute rather than risk sleeping in the outskirts.

  Roman moved against the flow of people. Besides Tan and Ruby, only one person shared his direction: a woman, five yards ahead, recognizable as a staff of the four Ministries not just by her route but also the quality of her clothes — beret, clean shirt, and denim trousers that weren’t ripped.

  The other pedestrians gave them a wide berth, eyes averted. There was little wonder why. The revolver hanging from Roman’s hip; the bow slung across Ruby’s back; the body bag across Tan’s shoulders. The only thing that would have made them more intimidating would be if they had brought Sparks with them. Nothing scared people more an Adrenalite.

  Ahead, four colossal towers rose into the sky.

  The four Ministries.

  As Roman strode into Reformation Square, he craned his head to see the tips of the towers far above. These were the only skyscrapers in Legacy kept in decent repair — each tower was supported by a framework of steel beams, holding them upright as their foundations slowly decayed beneath them. Each stood on one of the intersections four corners. To Roman’s left, the Ministry of Agriculture. On his right, the Ministry of Materials.

  Behind those, the Ministries of Science and Security.

  At least four dozen militia patrolled the square. They wore black jackets, bulky from the armour pads within. The militia guarding the entrance of the street watched Roman’s gang suspiciously, keeping their crossbows raised threateningly — even among the militia there were not enough working guns for everyone.

  Roman moved towards the Security Ministry, ignoring the guard’s distrustful glares. Even after three years, it still felt like he was walking in the wrong direction. His eyes lingered over the Ministry of Sciences. Nineteenth floor. Department of Historical Collection. Had it really only been three years since he had worked there? Lost for days inside the books of the Ancients. Studying. Documenting. Trying to relearn all that had been lost. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  Two militia, stationed on either side of the Security Ministry’s glass doors, watched Roman approach. It took Roman a moment to remember their names. Elrose held a crossbow — not pointed at Roman, but not far off. Regan had an axe hanging from his belt.

  “Mornin’ gents,” Tan said as they approached.

  Elrose sneered. “Unless your man is having a quiet sleep in that bag, I’d say the Captain won’t be happy with you folks.” He had the kind of nasal, whiny voice that Roman couldn’t help but despise.

  “That’ll be a change,” Roman said sarcastically. “Maybe she’d like to reprimand us in person this time? We’ll be nice, I promise. We’ll even invite her to join us on our next job.”

  “She don’t need to waste her time. We’re her presence in Legacy.” Elrose thumped his chest proudly.

  “Oh really?” Tan said. “Does her presence ever leave these doors? Her reach seems a little short. Almost like it was, shall we say, afraid of any real danger?”

  Regan�
�s pudgy face reddened. “We’re the guardians of this city, we protect—”

  “Maybe, just this once,” Roman cut in, “leave the boasting to those who actually captured this city’s latest vermin. And who would that be, Tan?”

  “That would be us, Boss.”

  “And what would that make us?”

  “Bloody heroes, I reckon.”

  Elrose scowled. “Makes sense vermin would be good at chasing vermin. Now you know the drill: hand your weapons over.”

  Roman sighed. “What do you possibly—”

  “No exceptions. We make the laws around here.”

  “Oh, did you write the decrees personally?” Roman asked as he reluctantly handed his pistol over. Ruby surrendered her bow and Tan gave up the two knives strapped to his waist. “You do look like a man who knows his letters, I’m sure you know all six vowels?”

  “Of course,” Elrose said.

  Ruby tried to muffle her laughter behind her hand, but she didn’t bother trying very hard.

  The Ministry had always tolerated bounty hunters. They held little threat since any hunter rarely lived long enough to collect their pay. But Roman defied the odds, and now his team caught more rogue Adrenalites than the militia themselves. The militia didn’t take kindly to competition.

  As Tan strode past the two militia, he stumbled, briefly losing hold of Burrstone’s corpse. He quickly righted himself, but not before the dead man’s legs very firmly bumped into Regan’s shoulder.

  Regan stumbled backwards. “What the fuck are you—”

  “Sorry mate, my mistake.” Tan dashed through the Ministry’s doors. The smile in his voice told Roman that the fall had been anything but an accident.

  Regan turned to charge after Tan, but Roman grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. “Tan’s part of my team,” he said. “That means that if you lay a hand on him, I would take it very, very personally. Understand?”

  Regan stepped away, snarling. Roman followed Tan into the Ministry.