‘You have a very interesting home here. Humble, but interesting.’
‘You think so?'
David escorted Dawn back to the wall of the Tower draped in the banner of the Black Eagle, as close as he dared, wary of the snipers stationed on the wall.
‘Do you want this breathing mask back?’
She asked as she held the mask close to her stomach.
‘No keep it, in case you ever get bored of wealth and luxury and you want to explore the slums or the desert again.’
Dawn laughed and folded her arms around the respirator. She leaned in very close to him. David summoned up his courage and forced the words out.
‘I hear the air is cleaner around Oslo Forest and Venice, I could show you around those parts.’
‘I’d love that. See you!’
Dawn ran back through the gates under the banner of the Black Eagle and turned her head to look back at him. David stared after her like an idiot for a while. Then he trudged slowly back to his derelict home in the territory of the Wolf.
Zach was a slum child from the Sprawl with short spiky hair and a cheeky exuberant grin. His family scavenged scrap metal and sold it to the factories of Amal-Tech Corp for scraps of food. Zach sorted through the garbage and rubble looking for anything the family could sell in exchange for food. One day he was lucky and he found a toy helicopter. It was his most prized possession.
They lived in poverty but then one day, the boy was chosen by the Alien to join the ranks of soldiers, as the Black Eagle passed by. Zach cried in protest and grabbed onto his mother’s leg. One soldier dragged him away as he cried and a second pointed a gun in his mother’s face. They took him away to a different world.
Zach was given the name Malcolm. Over the next few years the President himself taught Malcolm the history of the Black Eagle, how they had forged an enlightened empire and fought against the anarchists, the Wolves. The Alien taught him how to fight with his fists and with weapons. Always the Alien ended these sparring session by beating Malcolm bloody and unconscious to the floor.
When Zach, now known as Malcolm was fully grown he was cybernetically enhanced and psychologically linked to the Alien. He awoke drugged after surgery, a dull ache in his limbs and his thoughts and memory hazy. The fat bushy face of the Director inspected him like a piece of hardware.
‘The fusion of man and machine is complete. The weapon is ready!’
The Director nodded pleased with himself and left the room abruptly. The Alien’s skull like mask seemed to hover amongst the shadows. Zach struggled to move his body.
‘What have you done to me? My arms, my legs are metal! I look like…Like an android! Change me back!’
He moved his cybernetically enhanced limbs in horror.
You should be honoured. You can run and strike with the speed and strength of ten men… We are the chosen ones!
‘Honoured… And what is going on? You’re not talking out loud but I can hear you speak!’
I can speak into your mind. Yes, I have that power.
‘What the hell!’
You will get used to it. Malcolm.
Malcolm tried to run and stumbled out of his bed, he landed on his knees and vomited violently.
Malcolm quickly rose through the ranks to become Centurion, committing many brutal atrocities to do so. He led missions under the instruction and command of the Alien. He wore all black in the style of the President and the Alien. Malcolm told no one his real name or his slum origins, and he lived in torment. He believed in the Eagle and he was proud to be Centurion, but when he was alone sleepless at night he stared at the ceiling, haunted by bloody ghosts and by doubt.
Under orders from the President of the Black Eagle, Malcolm travelled to the factory of Amal-Tech Corporation by helicopter. Malcolm was there to take a woman, Anna, back to the Tower. Anna had been chosen for the President’s entertainment because of her unusual beauty. Malcolm gave her a red dress and a diamond necklace and took her by helicopter back to the opulent luxury of the Tower. He led her through the rich and extravagant architecture, beyond anything she could have imagined. He left her there, trembling and wide-eyed at the door to the President’s room.
Jaydyn the Boatbuilder and Stellar Dove, the healer walked down a dingy, dark alley in the Sprawl.
‘Why are we here?’ Stellar asked Jaydyn.
‘We need to bring the people hope. And to do that we will need some, tools.’
Jaydyn approached the door and pressed the buzzer. His body was lean and strong and he moved with grace and purpose. His shoulder length hair and short beard framed by his grey hooded cloak. Stellar’s snow white and sky grey figure moved out of the alley and closer to the door.
‘Who's there?’
‘Jaydyn Oslo.’
The door opened and two armed dark figures ushered them into the shadowy room. One rebel gestured to a lean and muscular man with angular features and grey hair. He wore a red soldier’s uniform with body armour. He had the aura of the master comfortable in his domain.
‘This is Nicolas Wolf, leader of the Resistance.’
‘Ah, you are the Messenger. Can you do a little miracle for me?’
Nicolas said with a grin.
‘We're here because we need a few tools to break into the Tower, to grab some food and medicine. People are sick and hungry, lost with no hope.’
‘What tools?’
‘A rifle, laser cutter and smoke grenades.’
‘How much have you got?’
‘Ten thousand.’
‘You'll never make it out alive...Tell you what, you give me the girl for branding and you fight with my men for a year, and I'll only charge you five.’
‘I'll never be your slave!’ Stellar’s eyes glowed and burned like stars.
‘No deal.’ Said Jaydyn.
The rebels held their weapons ready. Jaydyn and Stellar stood their ground. Nicolas Wolf regarded them curiously.
‘Ok. Ten it is.’
Dawn went through the motions of her daily work; beauty therapy and plastic surgery to keep the elite looking perfect and ageless. She dressed up and attended the glamorous social events, as her colleagues drank and gossiped and danced. In the privacy of her home, her personal slave dressed her up in wedding dresses for the husband her family had chosen for her. But at night, she walked alone upon the Tower wall and stared out at the Sprawl. She Looked over the shadowy cracked mosaic of buildings. She thought of the toxic world outside and the menacing Wolves, and of David in his little garden. They were the gates of death, definitely. But could they also be the gates to life?
David loaded up the garbage bins into the truck and pressed the lever for the crusher. A small aeroplane glided overhead, leaving a white streak behind it. The plane flew past a crescent moon that hung in the daylight. An old woman and some children peered out at him suspiciously from a ruined building. He threw another bin into the compressor but stopped when he noticed a multitude of violet flowers growing out of a crack in the pavement. The petals curled out above its thin, green stem. David stared, thoughtfully; he marvelled at the long, striking petals.
One day, upon Malcolm’s victorious return from a raid, he noticed Dawn, a grey figure with blonde hair, the young woman who had walked out the gates and into the Sprawl. The black armoured Centurion turned aside to the Gatekeeper.
‘Welcome home Centurion.’ The Gatekeeper nodded respectfully.
‘Who is that and where is she going?’
‘That's the dumb bitch who left a rich politician to go and live with a Sprawlrat in the slums. She will be dead in a few years, no doubt.’
‘And they just let her go?’
‘They threw acid in her face. To see if the Sprawlrats still like the look of her. You understand.’
The hunched, hawk nosed Gatekeeper laughed a joyless, spiteful cackle. Then he looked up for the Centurions approval.
Malcolm watched the grey figure disappear into the ruined city.
Underneath the fa
ctory, underground inside the Cube, the Director and his scientists researched an unholy science. They created the Mutanti, three brothers—the Alien, the Wolfman and the Griffinman. They called them the Mutanti, and they were the Black Eagle’s mightiest weapons, genetically engineered freaks, but they were difficult to control. The Alien was named because of his deformed face. The Alien loved war; his bullets rained down upon the rebels and he tracked them down and destroyed them, tribe by tribe, in search of an enemy worthy of his strength and power. But the Wolfman and the Griffinman hated the regime. They decided they would try and run away, so they waited for an opportunity to escape. The Wolfman was in fact half wolf and half man, his skin and fur was a dark blue and his eyes inquisitive and sad. The Griffinman had the wings of an eagle and the body of a man, his lean body and wings coloured bronze. They had their own cells in the Cube and their lives were regulated by a strict regime of brutal training. After a particularly intense session of electroshock, ideological brainwashing and weapons training, the Director summoned them to a mission briefing. They met in the centre of the Cube at a circular stage. The Director was playing with his latest invention as usual. His squat, stocky body leaned forward attentively and he toyed with his bushy beard thoughtfully. He was designing a robotic scorpion and was testing out its sting by remote control. He pressed a button and the metal sting stabbed down, smashing a hole in the steel floor. The Director howled with glee.
‘Shut up.’
The President took centre stage and commanded the room. He wore a black coat with the collar up and his dark hair neat and short.
‘Your mission is to assault another den of thieves. Nicolas Wolf is the leader. Bring them all to justice, dead or alive. We cannot have chaos in the universe—we must have order! The strong are born to rule and the weak are doomed to die. Show them why we are the strongest! Suit up men!’
They prepared their gear and flew out to a dirty corner of the Sprawl, only a few buildings near the edge of the desert. As the helicopter descended, the Griffinman looked out the window to see birds soar above the clouds. The Wolfman looked out over Oslo Forest in the distance. The brothers kept this silent pact, this desperate longing for freedom, strictly between themselves. The blades hummed and nauseous vertigo claimed the passengers as they descended. The helicopter touched down. Malcolm turned to his soldiers.
‘We cannot tolerate lawlessness; we must have order! Apprehending or eliminating Nicolas Wolf is the primary mission. Now, let’s blast this den of thieves!’ Malcolm kicked in the first door and charged into the hideout, his gunfire tearing into a rebel and throwing him back, dead onto a laboratory bench. The Wolfman snarled and clawed down another rebel. The Black Eagle men shot down five Wolves. The first room was a drug lab. The Griffinman half charged and half flew towards the next door. Lowering his shoulder, he smashed the door off its hinges and then he let the soldiers rush on ahead. After making this false show of loyalty, the Wolfman and the Griffinman hung back until the Black Eagle were fully distracted and had charged ahead of them. The second room was a weapons room. The soldiers of the Black Eagle blasted another ten rebels and lost five of their own to the guns of the Wolves. Malcolm led the charge, a blurred figure dodging bullets and shooting his targets with incredible accuracy. The third room was some type of gloomy social room filled with liquor and smoke and girls half dressed, all with the Wolf mark branded on their arm. The beat of the music was deafening and the girls screamed and tried to escape. The soldiers tasered and handcuffed all the people into submission. Soon, they all lay handcuffed and barely conscious with their faces buried in the ground. There were no more doors or corridors to explore.
‘Where is Nicolas Wolf?’
Malcolm looked over the dead and he looked over the handcuffed prisoners. A soldier put his boot and then his gun into a prisoner’s face, but no one had an answer. Malcolm strode back to the helicopter.
‘And where are the Mutanti?’
‘They’re gone Centurion; I saw them running into the Sprawl. They have abandoned us Sir.’
The Griffinman flew over the Sprawl into Venice, and he landed in the arched ceiling of the Spire. He hid himself because he knew he was a freak and a monster. He was now an outlaw to the Black Eagle and the Wolf. He cried for all the torture and murder he had seen and because he didn’t belong anywhere. His sorrowful song echoed through the Spire.
The Wolfman ran through the Sprawl and Venice, then climbed down into the underground cylindrical sewers where it was silent and shadowy and his mournful howls filled the gloomy tunnels with a melancholy music.
Nicolas Wolf strode through the back alleys of the Sprawl, hooded and cloaked. He had just lost everything he had spent his whole life building—everyone loyal to him. Except one. Her. Mercedes. She would understand, she would help him, surely. He turned onto a side street and approached her back door. She opened the blinds and blinked with her long eyelashes, her brown eyes large with surprise. She opened the door and let him in.
‘Nicolas, what's wrong?’
‘The Black Eagle. They found us.’
‘What happened, is everyone okay? Did anyone else escape?’
‘Dead. Or captured, which is worse than dead. Gone, everything's gone. I'm the only one who got out...’
Nicolas buried his face in his hand. She reached out and touched his arm.
‘Oh, Nicolas.’
She pressed her body against his. He was distracted, for a moment.
‘How did they find us? Who could have told them? When I find them, I'll kill them!’
He paced the room like an animal ready to fight for its life. Fire burned in his eyes.
‘You can’t leave; they will be looking for you. If you die, I'll die... Stay here tonight. Tomorrow you can make some more recruits, buy some more gear, and start trading again.
Nicolas was silent for a moment, then he took a deep breath.
‘Okay.’
He had to agree with her, he had been cheating death, defying the world and been in love with risk since he was a young boy.
Nicolas Wolf had trusted her, but unknown to him she was a spy for the President of the Black Eagle. She was the one who reported the location of his hideout.
That night Nicolas Wolf ate and drank his last. Mercedes poured poison into his drinking cup.
‘Here.’
‘Thanks.’
Nicolas Wolf drank, it was a heavy sedative and potent poison, its effects virtually instant. Nicolas fell to the floor, his limbs convulsing and his eyes staring vacantly. Death claimed him swiftly.
It was quickly announced triumphantly from the walls of the Tower.
‘The Wolf is dead!’
Now that the resistance was effectively dead, the President turned his attention to wars and conquests of other nations over the sea. The President ignored the mass sickness and starvation of the citizens and the pollution of the Earth. He demanded more and more from the factory workers while the Black Eagle revelled in their wealth, luxury and ecstasy, their conscience dead and gone.
The waves crashed on the coast, ants scurried over sand dunes filled with bones and dry scrub. A light shower of rain fell over the Spire. In the Parthenon a light rain spilled over the statues; the horse, the dog, the mermaid, the mother with child. The clouds drifted across the sky and the desert watched and waited. The rivers and the woods cried out in distress, which echoed like ripples in a pond. Despair fell on the hearts of the people and spread like a contagious disease. The sun set. The moon rose. Small lanterns lit up derelict shacks in the Sprawl and moths spiralled around the lanterns.
The Messenger looked up at the night sky, the stars were hiding behind the clouds and the moon was new.
‘The time is here, finally.’
Stellar nodded.
‘I feel it too.’
Jaydyn covered his skin in charcoal and dressed in a black hooded cloak and he scaled the wall of the Tower. He evaded the guards, the spotlights and the dogs. He broke into the storeroom
and loaded all the food and medicine he could into a helicopter and escaped. He landed the stolen helicopter at Dead Venice where Stellar Dove waited for him. She gave away all the food and medicine to the sick and hungry people below. The sick and starving people grabbed everything they could. When the crowd dispersed with their gifts, Jaydyn set the helicopter ablaze.
The President and the Director saw the burning helicopter miles away from the Tower windows. The Director slammed his fat fist down on his table.
‘How the hell did he get one of our helicopters?’
The President paced the room, his face pale and his body shaking with rage.
‘I want him dead! I want his severed head on a spike on the wall of the Tower!’
The Messenger stood beside the flames and looked towards the Tower many miles away. He stood still as a statue, his face carved from the stone of defiance.
The satellite drones and helicopters gave chase like wasps. The drones’ evil countenance was hungry and calculating, like robotic arachnids. They pursued Jaydyn and Stellar through Venice, over rooftops, through alleys and down winding streets. Then across Ash River and into the woods. Machine guns fired at the spotlights tracing their path into the forest, ceasing when they reached the safety of the mountain. Lighting struck a drone, sending it crashing down into Oslo Forest, and so the helicopters turned back in defeat.
The people of Dead Venice hid all the food and medicine, books and artworks they could in tunnels underground, along with themselves, and they waited. Tanks rolled in, bombarding any building that stood. The library collapsed. Homes burnt in the raging inferno until the Spire was half demolished, the statues in the Parthenon shattered and fire and smoke rose into the sky.
Jaydyn and Stellar looked on in horror from the rocky mountain slope. Watching the fire and smoke in the distance.
Mystic Angels and Cyber Demons Page 2
