The Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London)

by Mark Gillespie

  Walker looked at Barboza. Her eyes were focused on something on the road, something that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

  There was a man. And he was watching them.

  The man was standing on the faded white lines that divided the road into traffic lanes. Along with the shock of seeing the man, Walker couldn’t believe how overdressed he was in this heat. The man was wearing a long, brown leather coat, over an elegant, matching suit that looked unwrinkled and brand new. The leather coat stretched far beyond the man’s knees, down towards a pair of suede brown shoes. A dark fedora hat sat on his head, pulled low so that the eyes were as good as hidden. Walker couldn’t see any hair spilling out of the hat onto the man’s ivory white neck.

  The stranger in the middle of the road stood perfectly still. From a distance, he was a human scarecrow, warning strangers about the dangers of travelling further south.

  “You feel better now?” Barboza said. “We’re not alone anymore.”

  Walker ran his index finger along the curved blade of the axe in his hand. The axe hadn’t left his hand since they’d departed Stanmore Road. The tip was still coated in the young soldier’s blood, although the stain was drying fast, turning into a dark red smear that would be hard to wash off.

  “Who’s that?” Walker asked. “And why’s he just standing there in the middle of the road like that? It’s like he’s been expecting us.”

  Barboza shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “What do we do?”

  “He obviously wants something.” Walker said. “Let’s go see what he wants.”

  They approached the man cautiously. Walker felt his axe hand trembling and he struggled to keep it under control. What were they walking into here? He had to be ready to explode into action if things went south quickly. Had they been so stupid as to think they could get away with murder? Of course it wasn’t murder. It was self-defence, but who would care?

  Certainly not the man in the hat.

  As they got closer, Walker noticed that the man was smiling at them. He was probably about fifty years old, maybe even a little older. His teeth were a dazzling white. Walker could see two microscopic slits peering out at them from underneath a small pair of round lens glasses. Those tiny eyes didn’t blink.

  “Greetings my young assassins,” the man said. He spoke in a high-pitched, nasally voice. If Walker had been talking to this guy on a phone, he would have sworn that the speaker was pinching his nose as he talked.

  Walker and Barboza stopped about five metres away from the man.

  “Well,” said the man in the hat, rubbing his hands together. “Here we are.”

  “We?” Barboza asked. “Who’s that then?”

  “It’s been quite a day,” the man in the hat said. “So much has happened and it’s barely even lunchtime.”

  He laughed, as if some private joke was contained within his words.

  “Who are you?” Walker said.

  “My young friends,” the man said. “I represent the SKAM television network. And in particular – their flagship operation – the Future of London channel.”

  He looked at Walker and winked – a slow, repulsive manoeuvre.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” he said. “Don’t you Mr Apocalypse?”

  Walker shook his head. “Do I?” he said. “And what do you know? Sounds like you don’t even know my real name.”

  The man in the hat kept grinning.

  “I know that Sharon Freeman – the actress we employed to take part in a romantic narrative with you – has told you everything. I’ve seen the footage. The general public hasn’t, but I have.”

  Barboza took a step closer to the man. Walker saw that both her hands were curled up into tightly clenched fists. “Fuck you,” she said. “And fuck your Future of London friends. Bunch of evil bastards, that’s what you are.”

  The stranger’s grin slowly faded. “As you wish, Sharon. But you were the one who was supposed to be doing the fucking, remember?” The man in the hat pointed at Walker. “You were supposed to fuck him.”

  “I remember,” Barboza said. “And I’m glad I didn’t do it. I’m not the network’s whore after all, eh?”

  The stranger gave a curt nod.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “You are both wanted for the murders of two corporals in His Majesty’s Armed Forces. Two boys, twenty-one years old and nineteen years old – brutally murdered at your hands earlier today.”

  He pointed at Walker’s axe. “I imagine you want to use that on me.”

  Walker didn’t answer.

  “Two boys?” Barboza said. Her voice was cracking with rage or fear, or both. “Boys that were there to kill us. Sent in by your people, right? Walker and I know the truth about this city and that’s a very dangerous thing for you. Of course you want us dead.”

  “Justice must be done,” the man in the hat said. “And that’s why I’m here today. I’m here to escort you both into custody – if you’ll come willingly of course.”

  Walker glanced up and down the road. Then he looked up at the streetlights, listening out for that familiar whirring and clicking noise that had been driving him crazy for the past six months.

  “There are no cameras on you,” the stranger said to Walker. “Not here, not now. This meeting is entirely between us.”

  “Bullshit,” Barboza said. “You film everything, don’t you? Bunch of voyeuristic motherfuckers. And if we’re such heinous bloody murderers then I’m sure the viewing public will be queuing up to see us in a pair of handcuffs. That’d be pretty good for the ratings, no?”

  “Think about it,” the man in the hat said. “Think about what we’re talking about here. Do you really think this is fit for public consumption? I can assure you that this conversation is private.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Barboza said. “Because we’re not coming with you. You can go fuck yourself mate.”

  “I would urge you to reconsider,” the man in the hat said. “This will be a dignified exit for you, off camera. A route has been prepared that will take us to a nearby helicopter and there are no active cameras on that route. You will simply vanish from the Future of London set and…”

  “And?” Walker said. “Then what?”

  “A trial of course,” the man in the hat said.

  Walker glanced over the stranger’s shoulder. “Are you really alone?” he asked.

  “I am. Except for the helicopter pilot.”

  Walker caressed the blade of the axe with the tips of his fingers. He felt the faint, sticky sensation of dry blood.

  “You think you’ll be able to take us?” Walker said. “Just you?”

  “I was hoping to be able to persuade you,” the man in the hat said. “There is no need for anything else. No taking, as you put it. We are all civilised human beings and so much blood has been spilled already on this beautiful summer’s morning. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “You talk about civilised?” Barboza said. “Do you think it’s civilised, what you do to the people in here? Filming them without them knowing.”

  The man in the hat was looking at Walker. He didn’t appear to hear Barboza’s question or he simply chose not to answer.

  “What if we say no?” Walker said. “Then what?”

  “You walk away,” said the man in the hat. “I can’t stop you. But you must know that if you choose to do so, we will come back. And we’ll come back with something more forceful than just words. I can’t guarantee either that your final moments in this world won’t be captured on camera either. So you see, you have a choice to make. Choose a quiet, dignified exit now. Or face violent and exploitative consequences later. It’s up to you.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” Walker said.

  Barboza shook her head. “No,” she said. “We’re not coming with you.”

  The man in the hat looked at her.

  “Think very carefully my dear,” the man in the hat said. “Think very clearly about what you’re doing.
You must think about your family.”

  Barboza hesitated.

  “What did you say?” she said.

  “You’ve put our organisation in a very difficult situation,” the man said.

  Walker thought that the man in the hat sounded like an adult scolding a naughty child, and one who enjoyed doing so.

  “You were contracted by the casting director to perform a specific task here in London,” the man said to Barboza. “You were paid money to play a part and you violated that contract by attempting to sabotage our broadcast this morning. Isn’t that so?”

  “Sabotage your broadcast?” Walker said. “She told me the truth.”

  The man in the hat ignored Walker.

  “You don’t get it,” Barboza said. “You have no idea what it’s like living in this city for real, day after day. And neither did I. There are real people in this city you bastard. A fucking tiger tried to kill me this morning in Tottenham. A tiger! I didn’t hear the director yelling cut, did you? There was nobody there, waiting to escort me to my trailer. It was Walker who saved my life. And you expect me to keep lying to him? He was going crazy in here, you fucking creep.”

  The man in the hat shook his head.

  “This is a problem Sharon,” he said. “Your family and friends – don’t you think they’ll try to tell people that Sharon Freeman is a real person and that Cristiane Barboza is just a character? We’re already trying to persuade the public otherwise but the people who know you are a problem. We chose you because you had few contacts and those contacts could be trusted to keep quiet while you worked in London. But now that things have gone wrong, these people might have the urge to say something to someone about your true identity. And that’s bad for us.”

  “It’s your problem,” Barboza said. “Leave my family alone.”

  “It’s your problem too,” the man in the hat said. “Because of you, we’ve been very busy today, paying your loved ones a visit to ensure that nothing is said about your real identity. There are more visits to be made.”

  “I swear to God,” she said. “If you touch my family or my friends, we’ll tell every living soul in this city that they’re being watched.” She looked at Walker. “Right?”

  Walker nodded. “Right,” he said. “And that’s why you’re here today isn’t it mister?”

  The man in the hat turned to Walker. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Your biggest fear isn’t the people on the outside,” Walker said. “You can always distract them with a fresh dollop of bullshit. But in here it’s different. You don’t have that sort of control over the people in here. If people here knew that their lives were being exploited for the sake of crass entertainment – the shit would hit the fan, right? I can’t even imagine what would happen next.”

  Walker saw a flicker of uncertainty in the stranger’s eyes.

  “That wouldn’t be wise,” said the man in the hat.

  “Have you got a gun by the way?” Walker said, taking a few steps closer to the man. Now they were almost within touching distance. As he spoke, Walker raised his axe up to about chest height, with the bloody blade pointing towards the man. “Because if you’ve got a gun, I’d pull it out and shoot us right now. That’s your safest bet.”

  “I’m unarmed,” said the man in the hat, lifting his hands in the air. “I’m only here to offer you a way out that doesn’t involve violence. You will receive a fair trial and if you are pardoned, you will be free. I thought that would appeal to you but perhaps I overestimated your intelligence, Mr Apocalypse?”

  “A fair trial?” Walker said. “By whose laws? We live in here – your rules don’t apply. The soldiers died inside the M25 and in here, that’s the end of it.”

  “Who’s been feeding you for the last nine years Mr Apocalypse?” the man in the hat said. “Who provides electricity into this city? Clean water? You tell me you’re no longer part of our society but if it weren’t for that society you’d have died years ago. Isn’t it so?”

  The man in the hat smiled.

  “Tell me,” he said. “If you feel so aggrieved, then why haven’t you said anything to the cameras so far? You’ve been out walking in London for some time now, passing many cameras on the way. Why haven’t you told the viewers that Barboza is an actress? I can understand why your friend here wouldn’t say anything – she has her family to think of. Or perhaps she’s still too busy thinking about what she did to that poor young man this morning.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Barboza said.

  “But what about you Mr Apocalypse?” the man in the hat said. “Why haven’t you said anything yet?”

  Walker looked at the man with cold contempt. “I have something to do,” he said.

  The other man’s eyes lit up. “Oh? Is that so?”

  “Aye,” Walker said.

  “And what is it you have to do?”

  “None of your fucking business,” Walker said.

  “But it is my business,” the man in the hat said. “The public have turned against you. Mr Apocalypse is no longer flavour of the month. The people want to see you brought in for the savage killing of these two young men. They want to see justice.”

  There was a wicked glint in the man’s eye as he spoke.

  “Did you know that one of those young men had a three-month old daughter?” he said, looking at Barboza. “I can’t recall which one. It might have been the same man whose throat you slit open earlier today.”

  Barboza lunged at the man. But Walker had sensed that it was coming, sooner or later. He was ready. He got his arm in the way of Barboza’s progress, preventing her from getting her hands on the man.

  “Fucking prick!” she yelled. She spat at his face, the gob missile falling short of its target.

  Walker forced the enraged Barboza back with his left arm. With his other arm, he pointed the axe at the man in the hat.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Walker said. “We’re done.”

  The man in the hat nodded. “Very well,” he said. “You’ve made your choice. You won’t come willingly and I can’t stop you leaving now. But I can make your life – whatever is left of it – extremely uncomfortable.”

  “You won’t do anything,” Walker said. “Because we’re the ones with the upper hand. We’ve got your little TV show by the balls and if I see anything that looks weird, anything or anyone that reeks of your people then I’ll make sure that – before you get me – everyone in this city knows what’s going on. I swear to God, I’ll spread the word faster than you can blink.”

  The stranger stared at Walker. Despite the heat of the day, the man’s ivory white skin was bone dry.

  “Assuming we let you go,” the man said. “You truly have no intention of telling anyone?”

  Walker lowered the axe – a little. “That’s not on my agenda,” he said. “And that’s all you need to know.”

  “And when you have completed this task?” the man said. “What then?”

  Walker shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.

  That was the truth.

  The man looked back and forth between Walker and Barboza. Walker guessed that he was pondering his next move – that perhaps he was debating an alternate option that hadn’t occurred to him until now.

  “Very well,” the man said after a lengthy silence. “Perhaps the easiest thing would be just to let you go about your business. That is, as long as you’re sincere about saying nothing to anyone. But remember this Mr Apocalypse and Sharon Freeman – there are microphones everywhere in this city. You cannot speak of what we have spoken about here today.”

  “What about my family?” Barboza said.

  The man in the hat reached into the side pocket of his jacket and pulled out a sleek, narrow-bodied mobile phone. Using his thumb, he swiped upwards on the black screen. Then he stepped forward and pointed the phone at Barboza.

  “No one will be harmed,” the man said, looking at the screen while adjusting the angle of the phone. “As long as they pro
mise to keep quiet about your real identity. But if there are any leaks, I assure you my bosses will not be happy with those people.”

  “What are you doing?” Barboza said, scowling at the man.

  “Taking a photograph for your family,” said the man in the hat, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “And for your friends. With the time and date recorded on the phone, this will let them know that we have made contact and that we have spoken. I’ll tell them about our little deal. If they agree to play ball, everyone goes about their business as usual.”

  The man in the hat looked at Walker.

  “You do nothing, we do nothing,” he said. “We’ll call it a stalemate for now. Mr Apocalypse and Cristiane Barboza will be outlaws on the run in London. They will be wanted for murder but as long as you stay quiet, you will never be captured. That’s the deal. The public will probably forget all about you but until they do, we’re going to have to trust one another to keep silent.”

  “I’ll never trust you,” Barboza said. “And if anything happens to my family…”

  “What choice do we have?” said the man in the hat. “But to trust?”

  With that, he touched the tip of the fedora hat with his index finger and bowed without ever taking his eyes off the two fugitives. Then he turned his back to Walker and Barboza and casually strolled down the road, walking past a row of empty shops, a burned out solicitors office, towards a small road that cut off to the left.

  Before he took that left turn, the stranger stopped and turned around. Now he was facing Walker and Barboza once again. He took off his hat, revealing a white, cue ball shaped head, completely devoid of hair. The sun beat down hard upon his face, turning it so white that he barely looked human.

  “Oh I almost forgot,” he said, that wicked grin back on his face. “Good luck tonight my young assassins. You’re going to need it.”

  Chapter 2

  The Future of London – A Special Announcement

  * * *

  July 12th 2020

  * * *

  VOICEOVER: Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. We’d like to briefly interrupt all of our live streams across the Future of London network to bring you this special announcement from our CEO, Rudyard Campbell.