Kingdom: The Complete Series

by Steven William Hannah

  “He's in the studio?”

  Cathy nods.

  Gregor, the King's right hand man, looks up at Mark and laughs.

  “Go,” he wheezes. “Try and stop him. He'll kill you one way or another.”

  “Mark,” whispers Cath, touching his arm. He turns around. “We're in no condition to fight him. He nearly beat us last time, we've got men down -”

  “I know,” says Mark. “Get everybody out of here. Get out of Glasgow. Tell Chloe to do the same.”

  Stacy looks up from Jamie's prone form as Donald lays his hands on him. Stacy is shaking her head.

  “We can't leave,” she says. “The King can't win after all this.”

  Gregor wheezes again. “He already has -”

  Mark silences him with a brief, brutal kick to the chest. Gregor goes limp, his head lolling forward.

  “He isn't going to win,” says Mark. “But we're in a mess right now. Get everybody out of Glasgow. We can come back when we're ready, when we can win.”

  It's Jamie who answers him, sitting up with Donald's hand on his shoulder. His nose is gushing blood and his eyes are brimming with red tears. Donald and Stacy grab him, steadying him as he fights for breath, trying to get his words out.

  “Jamie, relax, relax, you're ok -” begins Stacy.

  “It worked,” he whispers, looking at them both. Stacy flinches as he pats his hand over her face, and Donald raises an eyebrow as Jamie puts an arm around him and pulls him close. “It bloody worked.”

  “What? What worked?” asks Mark, perplexed.

  “I – I don't even know how to say it. You're all real – you're all alive.”

  “Jamie, what happened?”

  “Mark – Mark was right,” says Jamie, “we need to get out of here, now.”

  “What?” asks Stacy. “I thought you'd want to take the King down while we have the chance?”

  “We already tried,” says Jamie.

  “Yeah that was last time though -”

  “No, Stace,” Jamie looks her in the eye, cutting her off. “I mean, we tried. I just – I just, like, came from there.”

  She stops and furrows her brow, trying to see if there's any humour in his eyes – instead she sees more relief in his eyes than she's ever seen anywhere else.

  “Jamie,” says Mark, walking forward. “What are you talking about?”

  Jamie wipes his bloodied nose on the sleeve of his jacket, and sees that his watch is fastened around his wrist. He smiles.

  “I, uh,” he says. “Yeah, I just came from the future.”

  “And what happened?”

  He stops smiling.

  “We tried to stop the King.”

  “And?”

  He looks around at them, his friends, and sighs. “We all died.”

  “Shit,” whispers Stacy.

  “Jamie,” says Trespasser One, crouching beside him. “Are you sure about this? You were just knocked out, I mean -”

  “I'm sure, Tony. You tried to detonate a grenade when it was clear we were losing. He put his hands around it and let you blow your own hand off – then stamped on your head.”

  The Trespasser looks down. “Yeah that sounds about right.”

  Jamie is on the verge of tears as he tells them.

  “He snapped Stacy's neck. Broke Cathy's spine. Donald, mate, you choked to death on your own blood. In my own fucking arms.”

  “Jesus,” whispers Donald.

  “Ok,” announces the Trespasser. “We fall back. Regroup.”

  “Surely we could try something else?” asks Stacy. “I mean, if Jamie saw what went wrong, then we could change it? What if Donald -”

  Jamie finishes her sentence. “If Donald used his power? We tried it. Didn't work.”

  “Damn it.”

  “What about him?” asks Cathy, pointing to Gregor's limp form, propped against the wall.

  “We can't keep him prisoner,” says Mark. “He's strong enough that it took all of us to beat him – and he nearly took some of us with him.”

  “Help me up, Don,” whispers Jamie, and Donald helps him to his feet.

  Jamie limps over to Gregor, and looks down at him.

  “This guy is like, one of the King's lieutenants, right?”

  “Seems so,” says Mark. “He was in charge of all of this.”

  “And he was the one who nearly killed you before, right? At the Gardens?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So he helped trap me and Trespasser One in that prison? Nearly killed us all? Ok.”

  He draws the revolver and checks it: loaded.

  “Hey, mate, what are -” begins Mark.

  “The King killed all my friends,” says Jamie. “This is barely justice.”

  Without hesitating, Jamie shoots Gregor in the head. He spasms and twitches, a sudden spurt of blood leaving the hole in his greasy-haired skull. Then silence. The squad are quiet behind him.

  “Jesus Christ Jamie -” starts Cathy.

  “Good riddance,” says Trespasser One, and leads them to the stairs. “We couldn't have kept him prisoner.”

  “So that's how we roll now?” asks Stacy. “We just kill people?”

  “We're at war, Stace,” says Mark. “I don't like it either but he'd have done the same to us.”

  “Then let's go the full way and kill the King too,” she says.

  “Not today,” says Mark.

  “We come all the way out here just to let the King win anyway?”

  “No,” says Mark, stopping next to her as the squad moves out. “We came here to stop him. Apparently, we die trying. Better to live and fight another day, hm?”

  She folds her arms. “I guess.”

  “Then come on. Back to the safehouse.”

  “And what? We just let the whole Kingdom thing happen?”

  “No, Stace,” he sighs. “We stop it. Just not here. Not now.”

  “I don't want to run away a second time.”

  “We're not running away. We're... like, retreating -”

  “Running away.”

  “Stace, it's that, or die.”

  “Fine,” she sighs. “But this isn't over.”

  “On the contrary,” says Mark as they walk down the stairs behind the rest of the squad. “I have a feeling things are just getting started.”

  They follow the group down the stairs, past a floor riddled with bulletholes, and out the door into the fresh air.

  “Cool cliché man,” says Stacy.

  “Hey, don't ask me to be a superhero then complain when I start spouting one liners.”

  “You should totally shout 'check-mate' when you punch the King.”

  “I think I've done that once already.”

  “Oh god, really?”

  “Maybe. Can't remember. I've been drunk almost every time I've met him.”

  “Oh right, yeah. I keep forgetting that.”

  Chloe raises her head from the bank of computers as the squad, tattered and weary, stumble into the gloom of the safehouse.

  “You missed the broadcast,” she says, brushing her blonde hair out of her face. “It went out twenty minutes ago.”

  “We know,” says the Trespasser, sitting his shotgun by a camp bed and sitting down on the edge of it, taking off his mask and itching the scarred half of his face. “Give me an update, what have we got?”

  “Well, the King gave his ultimatum – the Kingdom becomes official, in his words, at sunrise. Before then anybody who wants to leave the city centre is free to.”

  “Is anybody leaving?”

  “Dribs and drabs, over the Kingston bridge, out via smaller roads and the motorways. The King's men are apparently stationed there, but they aren't stopping people leaving.”

  The others rest themselves on camp beds and take stock, whilst the Trespasser ruffles his sweat-drenched hair and approaches Chloe.

  “You said dribs and drabs? How many we talking?”

  “A few hundred in total, I'd guess?”

  He gives her a confus
ed frown. “Is that all?”

  “There aren't a lot of people left in the city centre to be honest, are there?”

  Mark lets out a heavy sigh, getting their attention. “She's right. The Destroyer's attack wiped out a lot of the city centre – and most of the other inhabitants were students or people who worked here. No reason for them to stay if their classrooms and workplaces were all destroyed.”

  The Trespasser shrugs. “That doesn't make sense. Why would the King want to rule a ghost town?”

  “This is just the start. He'll expand his rule over time, trust me.”

  The Trespasser takes off his gloves and massages some life back into his hands, staring over Chloe's shoulder at the row of monitors.

  “What has the response been so far?”

  “The prime minister made a statement, basically saying that we're going to do something but that he's not sure what yet.”

  Mark laughs. “He actually said that?”

  “In as many words, yeah. Oh, and the UN have said they won't recognise the King's right to govern, or whatever.”

  “Like he cares,” says Mark.

  “Exactly,” says the Trespasser. “Authority is backed by force, and power. The King has enough of both to enact his authority. Doesn't matter what the politicians say; he's in charge now. No word on a military response?”

  “It's been talked about a lot,” says Chloe, “but no. Nothing solid.”

  “Good. That would be a complete disaster. The King would tear an invasion to pieces with his own hands.”

  “There's already an uproar – the news has gotten out about the police. Wiped out as far as the area around the city centre is concerned. Hundreds of officers dead, and the government aren't responding with force.”

  “Force isn't going to work anymore,” says Mark.

  “So what's the plan?” asks Chloe. “I mean, we have to do something.”

  “We do,” says the Trespasser. “I have a feeling the Agency will be contacting me soon.”

  Mark folds his arms. “I thought you left the Agency?”

  “I did,” he pulls an old, clunky mobile phone from a pouch and waves it. “They've got my number, though. Chances are they'll want our help. You never really leave the Agency.”

  Mark looks past them, to where the rest of the squad are perched on camp beds, chatting amongst themselves. Jamie sits apart from the group, hands clasped in front of his face, staring at the ground.

  “Give me a minute,” says Mark, and leaves Chloe and the Trespasser poring over maps and numbers.

  Jamie doesn't look up as Mark sits down opposite him – his eyes are unfocused, as though he's lost in thought, fingers steepled in front of his nose.

  “You ok, man?”

  No response from Jamie.

  “Mate?” Mark snaps his fingers, and Jamie blinks twice and looks up. “You ok?”

  Jamie gives a slow shake of his head. “Brain is still in agony.”

  “Bloody-nose-syndrome?”

  “Nearly terminal.”

  Mark lets the silence hang for a moment.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “About what?” Jamie still isn't looking up at him.

  “You saw us all die right?” Mark winces as Jamie nods. “That's some heavy shit, man.”

  “I almost joined you,” he whispers. “I don't know if I can do that again – turn time back. It nearly killed me. I reckon the only reason I pulled it off was because I didn't really care if I died at that point.”

  “Well, let's just try not to get into a situation where you have to.”

  “Yeah.” Jamie gives himself a shake. “It's just – y'know, I stopped it from happening. But it still happened to me. I know it didn't happen, but it did happen. You all died. Now I'm wondering what the hell we're going to do. How do you stop a man who can't be killed?”

  “I have an idea or two,” says Mark, keeping his voice low.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. But I'm not sure if I'm up to it.”

  “Physically?”

  “Well that too. Mostly, I'm not sure if I can do it to the King.”

  “Why, what are you thinking of doing?”

  “Well, I'd rather not say in case it turns out to be a dud idea -”

  “Whisper it to me.”

  Mark looks around, shrugs, and leans in, whispering his idea to Jamie.

  “Jesus,” breathes Jamie. “That's horrible.”

  “I know. I don't know if I can justify doing that to anybody – even the King.”

  “Could you do it? I mean, physically, are you capable of that?”

  “I think so, if I push hard enough.”

  “I thought you couldn't fly.”

  “The Protector said I could. I've floated a bit before. I think I just need to practice.”

  “Or get really drunk.”

  “Yeah,” he laughs.

  “Man, I still don't know, you could die doing that.”

  “If it means that Earth gets to continue on its own path without the King, then it'd be worth it.”

  The two stare at each other.

  “Well, it's one way of stopping him, I guess.”

  “I think I need to speak to him.”

  “What, the King?”

  “Yeah. If there's any chance that I can avoid going through with it, then I will.”

  “Just don't let it come to a fight.”

  “Why not -” begins Mark, and stops as he sees the look in Jamie's eyes. “Oh. He killed me, right?”

  “Broke your neck on live TV.”

  Mark sighs, shaking his head.

  “I have to try. He deserves the same chance as everyone else.”

  “And that,” says Jamie, “is the difference between you and I.”

  “Yeah, you'd just shoot him in the head if you could.”

  Jamie scowls. “Too soon, Mark. Too soon.”

  “Hey, that lieutenant guy threw paralysing poisonous gas in my face and blew up the Gardens on top of me. I don't think the world is a worse place without him.”

  “Advocating murder now? I thought you were the superhero out of us both?”

  “Until we have prison cells that can hold superhumans, I'm willing to compromise.”

  “Fair enough, man. Fair enough.”

  They both stop talking as the Trespasser's ancient mobile phone squawks its tinny ringtone around the room. All eyes shoot to him as he lifts it to his ear.

  He cites off a garbled list of codewords and nonsense, and then listens intently. After a few minutes, he grunts an affirmation, and hangs up.

  “Who was that?” asks Mark.

  Trespasser One looks at the phone, then closes his eyes and puts it back into its pouch.

  “It was the Agency,” he says. “Giving us an ultimatum.”

  “Giving us an ultimatum? What for?”

  “They want our help to stop the King. Preferably, they want him dead.”

  Jamie laughs. “Yeah, no. He can't be killed by anything they've got.”

  “Nevertheless,” says the Trespasser. “They've given us three days.”

  “What, to kill him?”

  “Or find them a way of killing him, yeah.”

  “And what if we don't?” asks Jamie. “What happens when the three days are up?”

  The Trespasser shrugs. “They drop a neutron bomb on Glasgow.”

  Episode 7

  Funeral For One

  “A neutron bomb?” Mark stands up, almost knocking the camp bed over. “Like a nuclear bomb?”

  “A neutron bomb has a different kind of payload, but yeah: it's a nuclear device,” says the Trespasser, putting his hands on his hips. “It's detonated higher in the atmosphere – much less fallout. Glasgow would habitable again in a few weeks. Six months afterwards it would be absolutely fine for civilians.”

  “But it's still a nuclear bomb, right?”

  “Pretty much. It would leave most of the buildings intact, though. We're talking maybe a three hun
dred foot radius of destruction at ground zero, and an intense burst of gamma radiation. The heat pulse would kill everything in the city. Any humans would be vaporised.”

  Stacy looks at them both, standing up herself. “Would that stop the King?”

  “No,” says Mark.

  “Maybe,” says the Trespasser.

  “Ok, maybe,” shrugs Mark, “but even if it did, it would kill everyone in Glasgow.”

  Stacy lowers her voice as though afraid of her words.

  “When the sun comes up, everyone that's still here, wants to be here. They want to be a part of the Kingdom.”

  “You know its not that simple, Stace, the people are afraid.”

  “Mark's got a point,” says Chloe. “The King's broadcast said that Glasgow was only the start. Maybe people are staying so that they can get in on the ground floor – better to reign in hell than serve in heaven, y'know?”

  “Then they deserve everything that comes to them,” says Stacy. “If they bow to the King, they're just as bad as him.”

  “They're afraid,” shouts Mark. “You want to just leave and let the Agency nuke Glasgow?”

  “Neutron bomb,” the Trespasser corrects him. “And it may be our best chance of killing him.”

  “He survived Donald stopping his heart,” says Jamie, shaking his head. “I don't see any reason a neutron bomb would kill him.”

  “Well,” says the Trespasser, “it would subject the blast zone to temperatures hotter than the surface of the sun for a split second. That kills most things.”

  “The King is an exception to most fatalities,” says Mark. “There's no guarantee.”

  “If you have a better idea,” says the Trespasser, “then by all means let's go for it. I'd like to avoid bombing my home city if at all possible.”

  The Trespasser's phone goes off again; he lifts it to his ear and listens for a moment, before putting it away.

  “Agency satellites are on Glasgow. They've got a location on the King.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” asks Stacy.

  “We're waiting,” says Jamie, “because not an hour ago we tried to fight him and everybody died, Stace.”

  “He's right,” says the Trespasser, “we need a plan of attack.”

  “No attack,” says Mark. “Force doesn't work. He's impervious to anything we can throw at him. Let me try a different approach.”