Legacy

by Travis Brett

  Sparks’ watched the angle the boys were coming from, calculating who was going to strike first. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Mole threw a right hook at Sparks, who easily dodged. The blow hit the wall instead.

  Sparks leapt at the smallest boy. A quick jab at the chest to distract him, followed by a hard kick between the legs — that was the real damage-dealer. The boy toppled to the ground, howling.

  Mole lunged again. Sparks barely spun away in time to evade a punch aimed at his gut. Another blow grazed his shoulder, this one from the third boy. Sparks ducked between the two of them, slamming an elbow in the Mole’s ribs as he passed. Then, in one rapid movement, he spun on his left heel while his other foot kicked the third boy in the back of the legs, sending him to his knees.

  Suddenly, a hand grabbed his ankle — the small boy, still on the ground, but still dangerous. Sparks’ feet were pulled out from under him and he fell.

  He rolled to the side, shaking the hand off his leg. Someone kicked him in the chest. He stumbled onto all fours, gasping. He caught a glimpse of a boot flying towards his face, then felt the impact.

  Someone landed on his back, pinning him. Thrashing wildly, Sparks tried to shake off his opponent. But it was pointless. Sparks’ advantage was his speed, and that was no use when he was being held against the floor. Dirt and stone scraped his face.

  Nothing to do now but to suffer the kicks. Strong hands grabbed hold of Sparks’ right arm and twisted. Sparks fought not to scream as his limb pulled out of its socket. His entire arm felt like ice-cold needles were stabbing into it. The boys laughed as they continued to kick him.

  Sparks gritted his teeth and waited until it was over. And eventually, it was. He pulled himself into a sitting position and he leaned against the wall for support. The boys had moved to the opposite corner, their backs to him. Sparks brushed the dirt off his face, placed his left hand on his right shoulder, and pushed. With a wave of agony and a sickening crunch, the socket popped back into place.

  Sparks spat blood. No way he was going to get any useful information about Candle from these bastards, but at least he could get revenge on Mole, during the pit fight.

  Or Mole would kill him.

  I won’t give him the chance. I’m the best fighter in this city. Sparks’ usual confidence was slightly dampened, however, by the throbbing pain in his shoulder. He gingerly stretched the arm out. The motion came slowly, difficult, his muscles protesting the simple movement. Not good. He would have to rely on his left arm during the fight.

  Softly, he began to whistle again. The same good luck tune he had learned at the Haven. Because today, for once, he might need a little extra luck.

  06

  With a strange mixture of curiosity and disgust, Roman watched the two pit fighters enter the hall. Even from his place at the back of the crowd, he could see the network of scars that ran across their bare chests. They were older than Sparks, probably nearer to eighteen. The audience roared their approval at the boys’ entrance. Roman ground his teeth. Applauding Adrenalites? Like they were gods. Like they were anything but monsters.

  No, he reminded himself, these people don’t worship Adrenalites. They worship violence.

  Ruby stood beside him on the bleachers made from scavenged bricks and wooden boards. Her expression was blank as she stared down at the two boys circling the edge of the audience, but judging by how she restlessly twirled one lock of her auburn hair around a finger, Roman guessed she felt as tense as he did.

  The space on Romans left was vacant, reserved for the owner of the hall. Gavin. Roman looked around, but there was no sign of the deformed gangster. Late, as always.

  Roman turned his attention to the hall around him. More than two hundred onlookers were packed inside, reeking of sweat, dirt, booze, and excitement. Roman wished they would shut the hell up.

  “It’s pretty damn ironic,” he said.

  “What is?” Ruby asked.

  “This whole place used to be a prison. Where the Ancients kept their criminals. This might have been a mess hall, where they ate.”

  “This was like the wind farms?”

  “Yeah, except they didn’t use criminals for labour.”

  “Then what did they do with them?”

  Roman paused. “I don’t know.”

  “So, who worked on the wind farms?”

  “Most likely paid employees. Like we have in the grain fields.”

  Ruby snorted. “A waste. The more you talk of the Ancients, the less surprised I am that they were stupid enough to wipe themselves out.”

  “They weren’t stupid. They built this entire city! We barely have the means to feed and clothe ourselves.”

  Ruby shrugged.

  “But you do see the irony, don’t you?” Roman continued. “This used to be the home of outlaws. And now, a hundred years later and following an apocalypse, it still is.”

  “Except now they run the place.”

  “Yeah. I guess there have been a few changes.”

  The roar of the crowd dropped in anticipation as the fighters took their places at opposite ends of the pit. Between them stood the referee, who wore thick protective armour. He held a hypodermic needle in each hand, with two more strapped to his belt. Roman didn’t envy the man his role of deactivating the Adrenalites once the fight was over — it wasn’t unheard of for the winning combatant to attack the Referee.

  Not that they had a chance at escaping. A dozen other guards paced the edge of the pit. Two were even armed with pistols. They were marked as Gavin’s thugs by the dark red rags wrapped around their left forearms. Roman wondered how much Gavin was paying them to stand so close to an Adrenalite fight. How much did men like this value their lives? Probably not much.

  Roman spied another dozen thugs scattered throughout the hall. Too few. Normally there would be enough to fill an entire section of the bleachers. If they weren’t here, where the hell were they?

  “Care to make a bet?” Ruby asked.

  “You know I don’t agree with this.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t bet on it. They’re not going to cancel the fight just because of your uptight morals.”

  Roman sighed. “Fine.”

  “Ten credits says the kid on the left wins.”

  The boy she chose was the smaller of the two, with lanky limbs and short blond hair. He stood slightly off-balance, favouring his left leg, and grinned as he stared down his opponent — a thickly built, dark-skinned boy. Ruby’s choice confused Roman; her fighter looked the underdog.

  “Deal,” he said.

  The fighting pit wasn’t really a pit — more of a shallow depression that had been hacked out of the concrete floor. Ten yards wide, its uneven ground was stained with blood from previous fights.

  “You noticed our tail yet?” Ruby asked.

  “No,” Roman admitted. Not for lack of trying on his part. But with the hundreds of people packed into Gavin’s Haven, it was near impossible to notice which one was watching him. Somehow, Ruby was always able to tell.

  “Two rows in front, at the end of the row. Missing an ear,” she said.

  Roman sighted him. Sure enough, the man casually glanced towards them, quickly turning back when he noticed Roman staring. Gavin always set a tail on them when they came to his Haven. No doubt One-Ear would raise the alarm if Roman so much as approached the downstairs cells where Gavin kept his Adrenalites.

  Not that he could have reached them anyway. He stared at the barred doors at the end of the hall, guarded by four thugs. Gavin was very defensive about his fighters, and he trusted Roman almost as little as Roman trusted him.

  “Where the hell is the bastard?” Roman frowned at the empty space beside him, eager to get the meeting over and done with. He had hoped to leave before the fight begun. Too late now.

  Two pit guards stepped forward, one behind each fighter. The dark-skinned fighter unleashed a wild howl as the guard injected adrenaline into his back. Blue lights began to shine from each combatant’s c
hest. The crowd screamed their encouragement.

  “Fuck ‘em up!”

  “Kill him!”

  The Adrenalites charged, colliding in a fury of fists. The blond fighter scored the first hit, striking his opponent in the ribs. The crowd roared. The dark-skinned boy’s size meant the blow barely pushed him back. He responded with speed that defied his size, swinging a series of kicks aimed to drive his rival off balance.

  Roman’s heart pounded. Despite his hatred of pit fights, he couldn’t deny the sheer thrill of it. The two boys’ rapid movements made their blue glows swirl in his vision, blending trails of light around them.

  “Welcome to the show, my good man.” A thickly accented voice came from Roman’s left. “Watch the beauty humans are capable of with just a little itty bit of mutation.”

  Roman tore his gaze from the fight to acknowledge Gavin’s arrival. Despite having seen the gang leader dozens of times before, and therefore knew what to expect, Roman struggled to hide his innate revulsion.

  It was the eyes. Fucking unnerving eyes. The left was in the normal place, staring blankly at the roof. His other eye watched Roman from just to the right of his nose, an inch below where it should of been. Green, bloodshot, and altogether creepy.

  “Which kid is yours?” Roman asked.

  Gavin rubbed his seven-fingered hands together with glee. “The blond one is my dear Rusty. Damn good boy. He won’t disappoint me.”

  Roman thought there was a good chance Rusty would be disappointing his owner today. The boy was forced to the edge of the pit, arms raised in a defensive posture. He was fast, but his opponent had the advantage in bulk and strength. Rusty stumbled with each step backwards, unable to properly ground himself on the rough floor.

  “I think you may be leaving a poorer man,” Roman said.

  “Bah! Rusty can handle it. Just wait and see. Besides,” Gavin flashed Roman an ugly grin, “I’ve got money to spare. I suppose I can thank you for at least a part of that.”

  Roman grimaced. It galled him that he had paid Gavin so much, but the mutant bastard wouldn’t have parted with Sparks for anything less. Roman could have bought any other Adrenalite for half the price, but after seeing Sparks fight . . .

  Hell, these boys are good, he watched Rusty dodge a blow and land his own in his rival’s shoulder, reclaiming a step forward, but neither would last a minute against Sparks.

  “And how is the little bird that you stole from me?” Gavin asked. “I do miss him ever so much. Sparks was a fascinating kid.”

  Roman rubbed his jaw, suddenly aware how hard it was clenched. What was he meant to say? He is the best fighter I’ve ever seen, and he saved my life. And I hate him for it. Every moment I see him I think of how he could kill everyone I know, and would probably enjoy it, too.

  Not worth saying that.

  “He’s doing fine without you,” Ruby answered for him. “I think he enjoys being allowed outside, rather than facing that pit.”

  Gavin laughed, loud and grating. “I highly doubt that. I’ve never seen an Adrenalite with a fiercer passion for the pit.”

  “We’re not here to talk about the boy,” Roman said. “We’re here for information.”

  “Ah forgive me, I just get so sentimental. But alas, business must be dealt with. You know I’m always eager to help.”

  “Like hell you are. You’re eager for more of my money.”

  Gavin shrugged. “You know me so well. That is why I like you, my good man.”

  “The feel isn’t mutual. We’re looking for an Adrenalite registered as EX89.”

  “Ah.” Gavin raised an eyebrow — the one above an empty space where his eye should have been. “Of course the Captain would have sent you after him.”

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Everyone in Legacy has heard of Candle.”

  Roman’s jaw tightened again, hands forming fists. “Then why the hell did nobody tell me?”

  After everything he had done to help this city, all the rogues he had stopped, why did no one ever come to him for help? They owed him that much, at least.

  Gavin gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’m sure I can’t imagine why.”

  “Don’t play games with me,” Roman growled. “Who is Candle?”

  “A scum-fucking piece of shit who doesn’t understand his place.”

  “That doesn’t narrow my options down.”

  “How much do you want to know?”

  “The usual.” Roman reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of coins. They were tarnished with age, but the coins of the Ancients never lost their significance.

  “My tongue feels looser already.” Gavin slipped the coins into his pocket. “Candle first appeared two weeks ago, when he raided Kyrin’s hideout. This wasn’t some random rampage. This was a planned attack.”

  “Kyrin . . . the rado-weed dealer?” Ruby asked.

  “The very same. He owned two talented fighters.”

  “Let me guess,” Roman said. “They haven’t been seen since the assault?”

  “Wrong. Everybody saw them when they attacked Jennie’s bar two days later.”

  “Shit. Why Jennie’s?”

  “I don’t doubt it’s because Gregory Marko just happened to be dining there. His pit fighter — a young specimen, full of potential — was taken from the bar’s holding room.”

  Marko. Roman recognized the name. It sickened Roman that a Ministry worker would own a pit fighter.

  “What happened to Marko?”

  “Dead as the Ancients themselves. The same as Kyrin.”

  “So Candle’s not just targeting Adrenalite owners, he’s targeting—”

  “—Pit fighter owners. Yes. And he’s stealing their little birds. Now you understand why he’s such a pain in the arse.”

  “Is there a chance his motivation is revenge?” Ruby asked.

  Gavin shook his head. His abnormal eye rolled with the movement. “Nobody has any record of an Adrenalite marked EX89. I assure you he’s never been a pit fighter before.”

  “Then he’s doing this because he needs the fighters. And by the sounds of it, he’s after the best ones.”

  “Not the best. He hasn’t come to my Haven.”

  “Not yet.” This was worse than Roman had imagined. One Adrenalite working alone was difficult enough to stop, and Candle was forming a whole team of them. How the hell could Roman deal with that? A headache began to pound in the front of his skull, and the shouting of the crowd did nothing to help. “Explain how the fuck I haven’t heard about this until now?”

  “No offense, my good man, but you are a bounty hunter who works for that snake Juliette.” Gavin spat her name. “There are situations that people like me want you involved in, and there are situations when we don’t want you involved. That is one of the latter.”

  “Then why are you telling me?”

  Gavin smiled. Roman really wished he hadn’t. “Because I have a proposition for you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I want Candle, alive. So whatever Juliette is paying you for his head, I’ll double it.”

  Roman shook his head. There was no way in hell he would let Gavin get hold of Candle. First chance he got, Roman was going to put a bullet in Candle’s brain. “I don’t do this for the money.”

  “Oh, because revenge is a far more noble motivation?”

  “This isn’t about revenge.”

  “So your friend’s death had nothing to do with you becoming a bounty hunter? What was his name — Stevens, wasn’t it?”

  Roman’s hands formed fists. “Shut the fuck up. Right now.”

  Ruby put a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes met his, and he could easily read her thoughts: Calm down. Insulting Gavin here would end up with us both dead.

  He took a deep breath and ignored his impulse to grab Gavin by his thick neck and pound his face into the bleachers.

  “So,” Ruby said, “why is he called Candle?”

  “That’s what we call him, my dear,
” Gavin said. “Because he has a peculiar habit of leaving candles behind after each attack.”

  Roman filed that information away for later; maybe they could use it to track Candle down. He had to be getting the candles from somewhere, and there were very few candle-makers in Legacy, it was mostly a lost art.

  Their conversation was lost in an abrupt roar from the crowd. Roman switched his gaze to the fighters below; by now, the blue lines extending from their chests stretched out to their forearms. Punches became faster and wilder as their unnatural strength grew. Rusty looked worse for wear, reeling from a blow to the face. His weak leg gave out and he tumbled to the ground. His opponent leapt on him. Roman saw Rusty scream, unheard amongst the crowds deafening shouts.

  Rusty managed to roll away, regaining his footing just in time to defend himself from another onslaught of attacks. There would be no respite now that he was clearly disadvantaged. He retreated two steps.

  Roman cast his eyes downward, ashamed of how much the fight excited him. He was meant to be better than assholes like Gavin.

  “Have you heard of Ashton Spencer?” he asked.

  Gavin didn’t take his eyes off the fight. “Never heard of him,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

  He’s lying. A shared glance with Ruby told Roman that she thought so too. But why? he wondered. What possible interest would Gavin have in an ex-ministry scientist? Maybe he sees Spencer as a threat; if Spencer completes his serum and the ministry uses it to permanently deactivate all Adrenalites, then Gavin would lose a huge part of his business.

  But still, why lie about it?

  Roman scratched his neck while he considered this, trying to look at anything but the fight. It wasn’t easy — there was something about violence that made it hard to ignore. He looked around the crowd, a mob of men and women with nothing to do but watch fights to distract themselves from the state of the world. Roman spared a glance towards One-ear. Not even he was paying Roman any attention. Every gaze was on the fight below. Except—

  A pair of Gavin’s men were in an animated discussion at the other end of the hall. One pointed up at the bleachers to where Roman and Gavin stood, and the other began to make his way around towards them. Roman reached one hand into his coat, finding the reassuring grip of his pistol.