The Enhanced Series Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  I can’t deny that one. Over the last couple of days, I haven’t really missed him, not with everything that’s been going on. But now, this morning, I sort of do.

  “Maybe,” I whisper.

  My guardian and best friend share a smile. Then, they both turn back to the kids, who continue to climb out of their beds and pull on their clothes. There’s not a great deal of privacy here, although the various areas have been separated into little apartments, partially blocked by thin, collapsible walls to create a number of units within the hall.

  The gang from the academy have one to themselves, more or less. Added to their number are a few other kids who have been handed over to Mrs Carmichael’s care and supervision. Most of them, I discover, are newly made orphans, their parents killed over in Outer Haven and with no other extended family to their name.

  Brenda Carmichael, given her decades of experience and unfalteringly good heart, is best placed to take up the mantle. She, along with several others who run, or ran, different orphanages across Outer Haven, will now be tasked with aiding these poor kids as they come to terms with their losses.

  Hidden away towards the back of the unit, I see Brandon. He sits on his mattress, sheepishly keeping his head low and trying not to make eye contact with me.

  Unfortunately, I have Hawk-eyes, and whether I like it or not, find it impossible not to be aware of all of my surroundings.

  I catch him at the rear, and take a few swift steps towards him. As yet, the death of Nate remains unmentioned to the group at large. At a time like this, however, most are too preoccupied to notice. And those who have will already have drawn their own conclusions from his absence.

  Brandon, of course, is aware. I approach him with a heavy step, stopping at the foot of his bed and gazing down at him.

  “Settling back in OK?” I ask.

  I try to keep the bitterness from my voice. It’s hard, given my state of mind and everything that’s been going on.

  He nods silently, keeping his head low.

  I make a conscious effort to soften my tone. I don’t blame the kid for what happened. He’s part victim too.

  “The boss of the Voiceless,” I say. “He got in your head, didn’t he?”

  His eyes lift a little. He seems quite disturbed by it all.

  “Yeah. He got in all our heads,” he whispers.

  “I killed him,” I say blankly. I move forward a little and lean down so the other kids can’t hear. “I stabbed him right where he stabbed Nate. He’s gone now, Bran. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  He nods again, lifting his eyes with a mixture of wonder and fear.

  “You’re so…different,” he says. “Is it easy, killing? Did it feel good?”

  “With him?” I say. “After what he did?” I nod slowly. “Yeah, Bran, it felt good.”

  I’m surprised by what I’m saying. It’s strange, really. I guess, at the time, it did feel good to take his life. But a part of me still feels appalled at what I’m becoming…what I’ve become.

  “I wish it was me,” he whispers. “I wish I’d killed him.”

  I rest a hand on his shoulder. He eyes lift up to mine.

  “I can help,” I say. “What he did to you, getting in your head, making you do things. I can take it all away. Would you like that, Bran?”

  His eyes falter, and begin to water. A grimace ripples across his youthful face.

  “I don’t deserve it,” he sniffs. “Nate might not have died if it wasn’t for me.”

  “I can help with that too,” I say, taking a short breath, and working up a comforting smile. “I can erase the pain for you.”

  He considers it a second, and then slowly shakes his head.

  “No. Thanks, Brie…for being kind. But, no. I need to get through this on my own. I need to pay.”

  I raise my eyebrows at his maturity. The boy was a silly, foolish bully, troubled by his past. A kid, just into his teens, who had little else to do with his time than to interfere with the lives of others.

  But now, he’s matured quickly. He wants to repent, just like Drum after killing that man. He wants to use what happened as a catalyst to change, and change for the better.

  “OK, Bran,” I say softly. “If you want to help, be good to the kids. Help Mrs Carmichael, and those who have just lost their families. Don’t be the boy you were.”

  His head shakes quickly and assertively.

  “I won’t. I promise, I won’t.”

  “I’ll hold you to that promise,” I say. “Now lift that chin, and stop hiding back here. OK?”

  He steels his eyes and begins to stand. And together, we return to the group.

  203

  The morning bustles by as I spend some time in the hall, just hanging out with the kids and trying to make them feel as at home as possible.

  It’s a nice refresher for me, a reminder of a simpler life before all of this happened. We chat and play little games and laugh if we can. I hear their stories and even tell a few of mine, making sure to censor them depending on who I’m speaking with.

  They hang on my every word, and none more so than Abby, who looks to be gathering more ideas for future stories in her comic. She sits, with her little binder in her lap and a whole raft of half worn pencils and colouring pens to hand, scribbling and doodling and keeping herself busy.

  The other kids don’t seem to have such a hobby to distract themselves, which around here might become a problem. There’s little to do, and nowhere to go – none are allowed out of the hall unless under supervision – and in time that might cause a few headaches for Mrs Carmichael and Tess as they continue to try to manage the rabble.

  With any luck, however, this place will only be a temporary refuge for them, and life will return to some sort of normality soon. Whether that’s days, weeks, or months, I can’t possibly say, and when asked such questions I have to be honest about it all.

  It seems that the penchant for rumour that all Outer Haveners seem to share has spread here now too. The fate of Cromwell, now known to be the great oppressor he is, remains a point of endless debate. Yet they all seem to be aware that he is still alive somewhere beyond the wall, with worries mounting that he’ll be reforming an army to fight back and retake the city.

  They’re justified concerns, although my natural position is to rebuff them whenever they come my way. I’ve got enough authority to settle them down for now, but in the end the fear that’s so gripped this city doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, even here, even now.

  My mind, while focused for that brief period on trying to relax and help the kids relax, doesn’t appear to allow me such respite. As the morning gives way to afternoon, I find it impossible to stay there in the hall, detached from the grander war outside.

  I determine that I need to do something more useful to the cause, and so decide to attempt something that I tried once a few days ago with limited reward.

  Moving back to the HQ, I pass through the main hive in the atrium and go up to my private room on the second floor.

  I shut the door tight and try to block out as much sound as possible, lie down on my mattress and shut my eyes tight. There, I drift from the physical realm and attempt to zero in on the weak pathway that’s formed between my mind and Commander Burns’.

  I look upon it again as it was before: a tangled, hidden trail through the dark forest, so difficult to navigate and traverse. Yet, I try, pulling out a machete in my mind and doing my best to slice my way through, clearing the path for me to make contact with the man who may yet be undercover within my grandfather’s inner circle.

  Standing there, I call out to him.

  Commander Burns, can you hear me? It’s Brie, Commander Burns…

  I hear no response.

  I try again, and get the same result.

  Nothing.

  I open my eyes, feeling a little frustrated if not surprised. Given the minor concussion I’ve suffered, and the fact that he’s out there at the REEF – at least, we
think he is – and surrounded by the toxic mist, contacting him is likely to be an almost impossible feat.

  Yet, I still try again. And again. And again.

  I do so for some time, calling out his name and just trying to get some hint that, firstly, he’s alive, and secondly, remains incognito within Cromwell’s ranks.

  And still, I get nothing.

  The effort takes it out of me. I keep my eyes shut and begin to relax, my head throbbing, the backs of my eyeballs aching. I pull the blanket up over my face and block out the light, take a few deep breaths, and try to drive the discomfort and pain away.

  I begin to calm, and start fading into dreams. The assault I suffered last night nibbles at the corners of my consciousness, trying to batter through the walls I set up to keep them at bay. They’re just about enough to give me some reprieve, a calmer sleep taking hold of me as my body and mind continue to recover from the days of abuse and torment they’ve suffered.

  And, in that relaxed state, I find the pathway starting to clear. And somewhere deep in the recesses of my cognition, a voice begins to sound.

  It rumbles from the depths, like a tremor in the earth, only just audible. And only a few words come, before the voice fades away.

  They have me…comes the voice. Don’t…trust me. He’s calling…

  My eyes open up wide and the words drift away. The ache in my limbs suggests I’ve been out for a while. I check the time and see that it’s late afternoon, the day having quickly passed as I lay hidden, here in this room.

  I whisper out the words I just heard, talking quietly to myself in the empty room.

  “They have me. Don’t trust me. He’s calling…”

  As I try to work them out, a sudden knock sounds at the door. I’m shaken from my thoughts and quickly croak: “Yeah…who is it?”

  The door opens up. Timothy, my grandmother’s assistant, stands in the opening.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Brie,” he says. “Lady Orlando requests your presence in her office.”

  I continue to sweep the cobwebs from my head, and stand to my feet.

  “What’s this about?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure,” he says. “They’re waiting for you.”

  “They?”

  “Yes,” he says, without elaborating.

  Typical Savant…

  “Right, erm, let’s go then.”

  Tim accompanies me down the corridor and straight up to my grandmother’s office on level 15. I find a series of shadows within even before I enter, visible through the frosted glass. Tim steps forward and opens the door for me, allowing me entry before shutting the door. He remains outside.

  I find the usual suspects in the room. Beckett, Freya, Rycard, Alfred, who remains over at his workstation, looking more nervous than usual.

  The main absentee is my brother, a perpetual presence at such meetings and yet, today, conspicuous by his absence. Stepping in, he’s the first person on my mind.

  “Is Zander coming?” I ask.

  It’s Beckett who answers me.

  “Your brother is still in Outer Haven. He’s been in contact and will return soon. He will be updated then.”

  “Updated on what? What’s going on?”

  My eyes turn to Lady Orlando, who has taken on a different mantle for me now. She sits in her usual perch, with that same composed look on her face. Yet now, I see beyond it. I see family.

  “Artemis has been in contact,” she says immediately.

  A hush hits the room. I think of the words that came to me in my sleep, the words of Burns: He’s calling…

  “He wishes to arrange a meeting,” my grandmother goes on. “It is as we expected. He has no option but to negotiate a truce…”

  Her words cause a bubble of fury inside me.

  A truce? With that man?

  The thought sickens me, as it must her. But she’s a leader, responsible for all these people. She can’t allow personal feelings to get in the way.

  “So, he’s giving in is he?” grunts Freya. “Always the case with cowards and bullies.”

  “We can’t be sure of that, Freya,” says Lady Orlando. “Artemis is too crafty to be fully trusted. We will meet with him under strict conditions, agreed by both parties, to ensure it is a peaceful negotiation. We will hear him out, and discuss terms. But, do not underestimate him.”

  “And when is this meeting to take place?” asks Rycard.

  “Tomorrow afternoon at 4 PM.”

  “Where?”

  “We will meet with him beyond the western perimeter gate. We will have our men posted along the walls for security. He will no doubt bring his own force of bodyguards with him as well.”

  “And you don’t think he’ll try to kill us all?” questions Freya doubtfully. “This sounds like a trap to gather us all in one place.”

  “It isn’t a trap,” asserts Beckett, surveying the white-haired half-Brute with narrow eyes. “If he tries to take us out, he’ll suffer the same. It serves no one to try anything stupid, and we’ll be in the stronger position around the western gate.”

  “But what about his soldiers in Outer Haven?” I ask. “He’s still got a load of City Guards out there, and Con-Cops, right? I thought they controlled the outer regions in the west?”

  “Not so much after the last 24 hours,” says Beckett. “We’ve driven most out and, as we know, the majority of the Con-Cops remain in the factories and warehouses in the east. We’ll go with a large host. We’ll be well protected from all sides.”

  “Hmmmm. Sounds like we might be leaving Inner Haven a bit undefended,” I say.

  “No, we certainly won’t,” yawns Beckett, who remains rather irritated by my general lack of knowledge and experience of such things. “We know what we’re doing, Brie. We have all of this in hand, despite your well-informed reservations.”

  The sarcasm in his voice isn’t lost on me. I send him a short glare but little more. As far as I’m concerned, I’m quite within my rights to question the motives of the man who created this entire damn war. And, now that I know who he truly is, and what he did to my family, I’m only liable to be even more distrustful of him.

  “Brie, your concerns are fair,” says my grandmother with a little smile. “But Beckett has our security well in order. This is merely a meeting to discuss terms of peace, and while we’ll remain wary of anything untoward, it’s an opportunity we cannot miss if it will save lives.”

  Her old grey eyes sway across the room, moving from one to the next.

  “I wish to have all of you at my side when we meet. We are a group of mixed races, genders, and ages, and will present ourselves as such to Artemis and his cohorts. Ours is a positive vision of the future. His is archaic and inhuman. Gather your mental faculties overnight, and do not allow personal feelings to boil over when we come together.” She looks directly at me on that point. I can understand why.

  As she concludes, a timid voice issues from the corner.

  “And me, my Lady?”

  I turn to see Alfred sitting at his workstation.

  “Ah, Alfred. No, you will do as previously ordered, and return to the church. I believe Marler is down in the atrium now, ready to transport you over. Is that correct, Beckett?”

  Beckett nods.

  “He’s all ready to go, along with a few of our men. He’ll take Alfred and come back with Adryan…”

  “Adryan?!”

  A pulse erupts in my heart for a second, the name causing a jolt of adrenaline to surge through me.

  My grandmother smiles once more.

  “Yes, Brie. Adryan is returning to the city…”

  204

  I wait with a sense of giddy anticipation that is such a rarity at a time like this.

  It’s a feeling that I can’t and don’t want to suppress, an oasis in this desert of worry and grief that, when you find it, you wish to never leave.

  Right now, I’m lingering around the edges of the City Guard HQ, watching the sun melt away below the edges of the bu
ildings, creating this strangely mesmerising sunset as the light filters through all the hanging dust that continues to hover above the remains of the High Tower and inner city at large.

  The entire site, of course, remains as busy as always. The people continue to clear the rubble and search for survivors, discovering several more pockets where several Savants managed to hide. They’re drawn out, well on the way towards dehydration but otherwise in decent health, each one helping to erase some of the red in our collective ledger, drawing us slowly back into the black.

  Rycard continues to operate in his new capacity, arranging the City Guards in protective units and handing them over to Beckett to be used for our cause. Those who remain torn are given more time to transition, while some continue to choose to put down their weapons and provide their aid elsewhere, beyond the scope of military action.

  From Outer Haven, more squads return from their patrols, most of them made up of our own men but some now utilising the new forces we have at our disposal. Among that number, Magnus and Titus have put themselves forward, keen to help more civilians to safety from the war-torn, ravaged streets to the west and south of the wall.

  They stamp down the street, only two in a number of Brutes now part of our cause, and fill me in on what they’ve been up to. I’m delighted to see that Titus’ doubts have now been fully allayed, his devotion to helping the people superseding any animosity he might hold towards us for toppling the High Tower.

  That sort of thinking is necessary at times of war. The shared desire among the good people of this city to help those in need is what carries us through and brings us together. Any rifts, minor or major, are sealed or up stepped over in favour of saving lives.

  Right now, that’s the priority that we all buy into.

  My brother returns too, a little while before the sun starts to set. His reappearance settles my natural concerns for him, a tendency I can’t seem to escape despite who he is and what he’s capable of.

  But, seeing what happened yesterday with Kira, I’m well aware that he isn’t the most potent hybrid out there, and that he’s perhaps more vulnerable than I once thought.