A letterbox opens and a tray filled with food that looks as though it was dropped on the floor and scooped back up again is pushed through. At first the King ignores it – he'll eat when they bring him food worth eating.
Before the guard walks away, he gives the King a hard stare through the letterbox, and the King sits up straight.
Something in those eyes.
Something he recognises.
He scrambles for the tray and throws the food off of it, and under a slice of cardboard bread he finds it: written in faint white marker on the tray, visible only at an angle where the dull light can pick it out.
Arrival in twenty nine days. Be ready.
He grins, and rubs the message out before returning to his seat, leaving the floor strewn with food. The King sits down, rests his head on his steepled fingers, and begins to plan.
End Of Series One
Series 2
Mark speeds through the obstacle course, feet pounding as he approaches a wall – the wall; the same his squad has failed at every time. It looms over him, trapping him in its shadow as he comes to a stop. His breath is a wheezing gust in his ears, his chest tight with effort. Over the pounding of his heart he can hear the others trying to keep up. Whisky burns in his chest, lighting a fire in his gut. He ignores it, breathing deeper to extinguish the flame.
The rest of his squad catch his eye as they approach, and he tenses up and cups his hands over his knees, nodding upwards.
I'll give you a boost.
Jamie is the first there, and Mark tenses up, ready to push him upwards, careful to reserve his strength. Looking up, the head-ache inducing lights of the indoor gym strain his eyes.
The old throb runs through his temples, and the alcohol kicks in.
He cringes, grinding his teeth together as a drunken miasma fogs his mind. A blinding headache cuts through his thoughts, his ears ringing.
Jamie becomes a wobbling mannequin in Mark's eyes. Squinting to focus, Mark tries to concentrate through the whisky-haze and do his job.
Jamie arrives.
“Push,” shouts Jamie, and puts both of his feet in Mark's hands.
Drunk and dazed, Mark pushes, and Jamie screams as he is thrown into the air, well past the wall, and into the rafters spanning the ceiling.
Episode 1
Acceleration
Jamie hangs from the rafters like a koala, his limbs wrapped around an arm-thick metal beam. Mark looks up from his bench and gives him another look that says:
I'm sorryJ
Jamie laughs and waves his hand.
“No hard feelings mate,” he shouts across the hall, his voice echoing off the brick walls.
Mark is sitting on his own on a bench across the hall, his head in hands. The rest of them, those that were hit by the fire, are talking amongst themselves, far enough away that he can't hear them.
Finally a door at the far end of the hall hisses open and a black-clad figure walks through. Trespasser One waves at Mark, his half-scarred face clouded.
“You four -” Trespasser One points at the other survivors and jerks his thumb towards the door. “You're dismissed. Head for the briefing room and wait for the rest of us there: we've got news.”
They take the hint, trying not to look Mark in the eye as they pass.
As they leave, two more men enter and extend a long ladder. Jamie groans.
“Ladders are so last week guys, just get me a trampoline, it'll be fun.”
Whilst the men try to pry Jamie down like a cat in a tree, Mark finds himself looking up into the shadowy eyes of Trespasser One.
“You ok, Mark?”
His voice sounds like a tank reversing over gravel, and he's folding his arms. Mark lifts his heavy head from the cradle formed by his hands.
“What's the important news?”
“I asked you a question.”
Mark sighs. “I didn't mean to throw him so hard.”
“Just like the last four times. Something you aren't telling me?”
He shrugs. “I get so far and then the drink kicks in. If I try it sober I might have a chance -”
“If you try it sober,” says the Trespasser, “you could die.”
Mark almost protests; but the Trespasser is right. His shoulders sag again.
The Trespasser sighs. “I know you hate it Mark, but until our people can find a way to fix your condition, you need to stay - well -”
“Drunk.”
“Pretty much.”
Mark leans back against the wall. “Well, at least it's only been Jamie I've launched. He's got a sense of humour.”
Trespasser One sits down beside him, and they watch as the two men atop the ladder try to convince Jamie to let go of the beam.
“The others do too, Mark. You just need to get to know them.”
“Yeah, well; they keep their distance.”
“Can you blame them? All they've seen you do so far is throw Jamie into the roof.”
Mark scoffs. “Maybe that's why they always slow down near the wall – to let Jamie overtake them.”
“Nobody wants to end up in the rafters.” The Trespasser gives Mark a grin that he struggles to return. “Come on Mark,” he punches his arm. “You can control your power. I mean, how do you hug your mother?”
“Carefully.”
“Well there you go then.”
Mark says nothing. He's still watching as Jamie, with all the grace of a brick, lunges off the rafter and onto the ladder, clawing at the men for grip.
“You're awful quiet. Quiet isn't your style Mark,” the Trespasser presses him. “What's wrong?”
“Why do I need to boost them over the wall? I could walk through that wall if I wanted.”
“And?”
“Well why can't I?”
“Walking through the wall proves that you're strong. We know that already. We don't want you to prove your strength, Mark; we want you to work as part of a team.”
“I can't work with a team who are afraid of me.”
“Then stop throwing people into the rafters.”
“I'm trying.”
“Try harder.”
Mark says nothing, taking a swig from the metal flask on his overall's belt. He coughs the whiskey down, patting his chest. Behind the Trespasser, Jamie has reached the bottom of the ladder and is patting the men on the back, thanking them as they pack it away.
Jamie walks their way. Upon seeing him coming, the Trespasser turns to Mark.
“Look, time is running out. The fire will be here soon, and we – your squad included – are going to be on the front line. Have a minute with Jamie and then come to the briefing room. We've got news – and it sounds like your kind of thing.”
“My kind of thing?”
“Humanitarian work.”
“Where?”
“Glasgow, Mark.”
“We're going back? I thought we were just going to be negotiators or something?”
“I'll tell you everything in the briefing room. Don't be long.”
“I won't.”
“Good man,” he says. “I'll have a word with the boys in medical too, see if they can reduce your alcohol dosage, keep you a bit sharper, ok?”
Mark nods, giving him a silent but thankful look as he turns to leave.
“See you in a minute, Tony,” shouts Jamie.
The Trespasser shakes his head as he leaves, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving the pair alone.
“He loves me really,” says Jamie as he joins Mark on the bench.
“Why Tony? He told you himself: he doesn't actually have a name.”
“Trespasser One, right? T-One? Except that sounds like a robot assassin from the future. So T-One; Tone; Tony. Tony it is.”
“It doesn't really suit him.”
“Nah, you're right. He looks like a Harvey. You know, what with the half-burnt-face thing going on?”
“You're an arsehole, Jamie,” Mark laughs. “Sorry about throwing you into the bloody rafters again.�
�
“It's ok, I'm building some serious muscle hanging there.” Jamie shrugs, smiling. “Hey, at least they have rafters.”
“I can't help it, it's the drink. You know I'd have caught you anyway, if you fell.”
“I know – and I'd rather you were drunk than dead. Besides, hanging from the rafters reminds me of the good times.”
“The good times?”
“Yeah, you know: me and Chloe hanging beneath a spinning helicopter whilst Agency soldiers shoot at us?” Jamie gives him a manic grin. “The good times, Mark.”
“Don't get me started on the good times.” Mark forces a smile and stands up, prompting Jamie to follow him. He takes the metal flask from his belt and takes another swig, wincing as the whisky burns his throat. “Besides, now we are the Agency soldiers.”
“Not quite. We don't get guns.”
“Like we need them.”
Jamie laughs and slaps his thigh as he stands up.
“Right, come on. Briefing room. I'm curious as to what's so urgent.”
Like a flickering fire in a cave, the TV screen throws shadows across the tiny white briefing room, turning the scattered chairs and overall-clad figures into silent, watching mannequins. All is still as the voice on the screen fills the room.
A man in full military uniform – the commander overseeing martial law in Glasgow, the news tells them – is standing in front of a very unfamiliar George's Square. The crowded square, marked by its central pillar and the statues that border it, has spent the last two months as one of Glasgow's city-centre refugee camps.
Shuffling figures in dirty winter coats mill around behind him as he speaks, clutching their rations with bony fingers, hurrying their scrawny children out of the cold winter air and back into the canvas tents.
“I consider it a victory,” he says directly to the camera. “Two months ago, the streets of Glasgow were awash with misdirected violence; the result of a scared and confused military presence dealing with an issue which has no precedent in human history. We are not an occupational force, we are peacekeepers. We're not looking to fight anybody, other than those that persist in bringing violence and terror to the streets. The militants known as the King's Men no longer hold a grip over the people of this city. We have cut the head off the snake, so to speak.”
Mark leans forward in his chair, breaking his unblinking gaze with the television to look at Jamie, who is sitting beside him with the same intense expression. The commander on the television continues.
“Our concern now is to repair and rebuild. To those outwith the city, and to the rest of the world, things may look bleak; but this is the dawn of a new day for Glasgow, a city long held hostage. The real damage here was done not by the fire from the sky, or by the knee-jerk response of an unprepared military force; but by tyrants and despots who sought to control an entire population through fear and coercion. Those men and women are now in custody awaiting trial, and as a result, Glasgow can begin to look to the future once more. Law and order have finally returned, and it is my great pleasure to announce that the military presence in the city centre will be decreasing as the local police force returns to strength. The healing process can finally begin.”
The Trespasser, standing beside the television, speaks up.
“This is the important bit,” he says, and the commander clears his throat and gives the reporters one last bit of information.
“That is why, as a symbolic gesture,” he says, “the men and women kept hidden and safe until now – those affected by the fire, that the media are so desperate to talk to – will be returning to Glasgow to assist with the aid efforts.”
The crowd of reporters, silent until now, explode with questions. Unflinching, the commander raises a hand and says.
“No questions just now: the people hit by the fire are coming to show their willingness to help rebuild, to show that they mean no harm. For their own safety and the safety of those in Glasgow's city centre, I ask that we let them help in peace. They have proven to be of no danger to themselves or others provided that they are not threatened, just like any human being. Another statement will be made closer to the time. Thank you.”
The commander walks away, leaving a cloud of questions to follow after him. Raising the remote, the Trespasser turns the television off and light returns to the room.
“I imagine you have questions.”
“Bloody right we've got questions,” says the older, heavier woman with badly dyed, oily black hair.
“Cathy, it's just a photo-op. Command doesn't want a repeat of the last time the fire hit Glasgow. The next one is coming soon – sooner than we thought – and before it arrives, he wants to show the world that surrendering to the Agency isn't something to be afraid of. So we smile for the camera, and show them that we're all ok.”
“Sooner than we thought?” asks Mark. “How soon?”
“It began accelerating last night. The folk in lab-coats reckon that it's going to hit in four days.”
“Four days?” This comes from the grey haired, bearded man sitting beside Cathy. His accent is different to the rest of them: more refined and educated. “I thought we had three weeks.”
“Four days, three weeks, it doesn't matter. The fire has forced our hand. The world has to see you guys alive and well before the fire hits again. Identities will be protected as usual: uniforms on, masks and all. It's just one hour in the camp, until the media get their photographs, and the story runs.”
“You can't help a lot in one hour,” says Mark. “I don't mind staying longer, personally.”
“Mark, it's a PR run. We're only really doing this for the cameras.” Trespasser One lets out a tense breath and looks around the room. “Donald and Cathy,” he points to the two older survivors, “you're going to be paired together. Jamie and Mark, you too. Stacy and Gary, you guys are a pair too.”
He forks his fingers at the last two, a pair of shorter, younger survivors. Stacy is the only one in the room with a pony-tail, and Gary is easily a foot shorter than Mark but walks with the – undeserved – swagger of a champion athlete.
“You'll be looked after by a mixture of Trespasser and undercover units – you'll be in no danger at any point.” Looking around the room, the Trespasser finds confused faces staring back at him. “Look, just be here tomorrow at oh-seven-hundred, and be in full uniform. No need to pack anything. You're all dismissed – except Mark and Jamie: stay a moment, please.”
The others stand, giving them curious looks as they leave. The door clicks shut and leaves the three men in a thick silence.
Mark breaks it.
“A photo op?” asks Mark. “Really?”
“Command wants to show the world that you aren't dangerous. We need to manage the peoples' expectations through the media.”
“He has a point, Mark,” says Jamie, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. “It'll be easier to convince the new powered people to come with us if they've seen that we aren't getting bisected in area fifty-whatever.”
“But we should be helping,” says Mark. “Us – the three of us – took down the King. Jamie, you were there: he told us Glasgow would fall apart without him; and it bloody has. We broke it; we should fix it.”
“It was already broken,” says Jamie.
“That's besides the point -”
“We will help, Mark,” says the Trespasser. “We will. First, though, we need to make sure that the next time the fire falls on Glasgow we don't end up with open warfare on the streets again. Things are bad enough as they are without people getting more powers and running amok.”
“Wait,” Jamie stops him. “It's going to hit Glasgow? For sure?”
The Trespasser nods. “The fire keeps changing course, like the first one did. It's adjusting to hit the city again.”
“Why?”
The Trespasser clenches his fist and rests it on his jaw, scowling.
“We don't know. Perhaps the first one set a precedent. We don't even know what 'it
' is yet. All we can do is prepare for more powered people: and that means getting the public used to seeing you guys out there in uniform.”
“You don't like this,” says Mark, “do you?”
“What do you think, Mark? You guys aren't soldiers, you aren't operatives, you aren't agents; you're civilians. I'm being asked to take a group of six civilians – each of whom has the capacity to take out an entire strike team by accident – into a lawless war-zone and take pictures with them. You guys aren't even slightly trained – you've yet to run the bloody assault course properly for christ's -” he catches himself and trails off.
“We're trying,” says Jamie.
“Look, it's not your fault. You guys have had to be forced through some very, very basic training in two months. For all that, the team still barely know each other.”
“I don't even know what the others are capable of,” says Jamie. “I don't even know what their powers are.”
“Then a field run will help to fix that. We three met in the middle of the grinder, we've at least got an idea what it's like out there. The others; they came in peacefully: they don't know what it can get like.”
“Shouldn't we maybe focus on getting ourselves together, first?”
“Time isn't going to let us, Jamie. Look, Command is giving the orders here and I have to follow them. Tomorrow we go back to Glasgow, and I need you two in particular to be ready for anything.”
“Why?” asks Jamie. “What's worrying you?”
Mark is still silent, staring at the floor as the Trespasser goes on.
“The city is still crawling with remnants of the King's organisation, squabbling over what's left. It's a dangerous place, and you two know what those people are like. The others are new to this. If it does go south, I'm going to be relying on you two. Mark, that means you as well.”
Mark finally looks up, his eyes red and unfocused. “I promise I won't throw anybody into the rafters.”
Kingdom: The Complete Series Page 18
