Nobility (The Dystopian King Book 1)

by Mason Dakota

  “Call me…Johnny…..Appleseed,” I said, trying to give a smug look through my anger. I failed. I’m not good at lying, even on a good day. I always end up making a silly face and my voice squeaks. I hate it.

  “Clever and stupid. A rare combination. Maybe, now that I’m thinking about it, we have met after all.”

  I might have told him if I could. I just couldn’t quite see the full image behind the strong emotions. My brain had repressed those memories and the few glimpses I received were vague. All I knew was that this man had been there the day of the fire—the day of death for my only family. To me that made him guilty even if I didn’t know everything just yet.

  “Let’s see…an obvious Outcast, strong jaw line, hawkish features, bushy but thin eyebrows, straight dark hair with a few cowlicks, faded scar on your lip from a childhood cleft lip I imagine, blue eyes…just…like…your father’s!” His smile got bigger, and his eyes twinkled.

  “You’re Richard Nightlock’s boy, right? That would make you…Griffon Nightlock then? Yes, it’s all coming back to me now. Quite some time has passed. How are things? Staying out of trouble I hope.” I fought against my handcuffs again. They bit into my flesh and I could feel a trickle of blood on my finger tips.

  “Just peachy. Take these cuffs off and I’ll give you a big hug just for old time’s sake.”

  Ziavir laughed a deep and booming laugh. It was oddly inviting, and some of his thugs joined in with light chuckles. It wasn’t that what I’d said was funny to make them laugh. It was how charismatic Ziavir was. Others were compelled to copy him just because he was so charismatic. He had an addictive energy and fullness of life about him. Even I felt the pull to follow his example. Fools worship people with such power.

  “You remind me too much of your father, Griffon. He had a snappy tongue, just like you, in these situations. I really do wish we had time to talk about the past. There’s so much I wish to discuss with you. But unfortunately, I’m on a strict time limit and under orders. So, let’s cut to the chase and have you tell me how you got here.”

  “I walked on like everyone else,” I lied…badly. My voice squeaked out the lie. My face twisted into a grimace.

  Ziavir shook his finger like a mother would to her children when correcting them and said, “Never play poker, Griffon. You’ll lose. Now, I’ll ask once more…nicely. How did you get on this train and go so long without my men finding you sooner. And why are you here? My men had this train locked down long before you showed up, and I can’t afford to have anything go against tonight’s plan. It’s bad for business, and tonight is a rather important…business meeting for me. I hope you understand.”

  I did understand. I was Ziavir’s wild card here, his big surprise. I was the proverbial monkey wrench that spells disaster for any plan. At the same time, I realized that if Ziavir, a near mythical killer by his reputation in the criminal underworld, was in the city, there was a reason and it likely involved massive bloodshed.

  I can’t let that happen!

  “You should get your men to check the bathrooms better. I’m with the NPFC and we’re on to you, Ziavir, and your plots. But if you release me and the rest of these hostages I’ll let you walk away free.” It was a tremendously stupid lie. I don’t know why I even tried it. Ziavir suppressed a smirk by rubbing at his eye with his thumb, and shook his head.

  Is that out of disappointment, frustration, or annoyance at my continual dishonesty?

  Ziavir pulled a large, silver pistol, from behind him and stuffed the barrel under my chin.

  Scratch that. Not annoyed! Very angry!

  I’d never been in this position, awaiting an execution, and I can say it’s not a comfortable feeling. It certainly wasn’t a military-issued blaster pistol—those types of weapons were near impossible for the average civilian to acquire—but a gun like that could still have easily blown off my head at that distance. I fought to keep my lower lip from quivering and my hands from shaking. I was unsuccessful in that goal. Ziavir’s expression turned sad. He opened his mouth to speak, likely to apologize for my death, but before his words escaped, one of his henchmen spoke up. “Sir, we will be approaching Clark Lake station shortly.”

  That was four stations past where I was supposed to get off!

  Ziavir nodded and replied, “Good, make sure everyone is ready to depart.” He then turned back toward me and said with a smile, “It seems our time is running short here Griffon. So, I will give you one last generous chance, only because of my history with your father, to tell me the truth. Otherwise, someone dies.”

  I could see it in his eyes. Ziavir, was a man of his word. Someone was going to die.

  “I jumped from a rooftop and landed on the monorail as it passed underneath. I was trying to escape the NPFC and it seemed like a good way to do it.” After saying it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. But, I had emerging bruises to prove it. However, I don’t think Ziavir saw it that way. His smile disappeared with a sigh, and without taking his eyes off me, he pointed his gun behind him and fired blindly. His bullet went straight through the skull of a lady, a Noble in fact. The gun roared but the woman’s death was quick and painless, and there was no sound from her. She slumped forward lifeless; blood stained her purple blouse. The passengers sitting around her struggled under their bonds and screamed beneath their gags. I silently stared in horror.

  “Did your mother not get the chance to teach you that your actions have consequences?” Ziavir asked.

  “W—why?” I whispered. It was all I could manage to say. My eyes never left the dead woman’s face.

  He laughed and said, “Why? Well, why not? It’s simple really.” He cleared his voice as if to prepare himself to say a speech he had given a dozen of times before.

  “Life is marvelous, but unfortunately mankind takes it for granted.Their common mindset of immortality causes them to forget that all they truly have is the present. The past is gone. The future? There’s no promise one will see the next hour, much less another sunset. But instead of taking advantage of this fact, we place cages upon us and upon our brethren that oppress and limit us from what we were meant to have. Free will. Nobody lives with such freedom. Instead, we are afraid of freedom, afraid of change, afraid of paying the price for it. Thus cages of injustice and growing madness amongst the slaves within them.

  “Soon the world will be reminded of just how short and unpredictable life is. It is the natural trend of life, the meteor that killed the dinosaurs, the Ice Age that froze this planet, the Flood which wiped it clean. Those moments remind us of our fragile state, of our true freedom, and I seek to remind the world—to set this city free again. The world will say I am a monster for this, but I know the truth. We are all monsters inside and are desperately wanting freedom from this hopeless humanity to be what we really are, what we were meant to be.

  “So what does that make you?” I quickly asked.

  “A necessary evil to save humanity from a far greater evil. But in order to do what is necessary to build a better world I’ve got to break the old one down. Soon, men and women of this city, who think they are so safe and good inside their cages of lies, will show their true natures to the rest of the world. Loving neighbors will take from each other. People will give in to their sinful souls and the monsters will come out to play. But there is no change unless we know who we really are first. Unless the monster comes out of the cage, nothing good can replace it. That means in three days’ time this city will cave to madness, and, when the dust has settled and the fires have gone out, we can rebuild something good.”

  Ziavir saw himself as a god among men, willing to do vast evil in hopes of good—a burn down the forest to build a garden sort of man. Men like this think the means justify the end.

  Am I so different from him?

  I did just rob a bank to break the relationship between the Mayor and Chicago’s mob boss in hopes of making things better in the end for Outcasts.

  The monorail entered a tunnel and the brakes s
creeched the locomotive to a hard stop. One by one, Ziavir’s men filed out of the doors.

  Strange. Why did they take an entire monorail hostage and then hop off in-between stations?

  Ziavir holstered his gun and then tapped the floor panel below him with his cane as he said, “It’s unfortunate I’ve got to go, especially before the fireworks begin. It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, Griffon. I truly wish we’d met under different circumstances.”

  He turned back and stepped off the monorail.

  “THIS IS NOT OVER ZIAVIR! I WILL SEE YOU AGAIN! I’LL STOP YOU!” I shouted out to him.

  He looked back, smiled, and said, “Forgive me if I’m not worried.”

  Then the doors shut and the monorail started moving, slowly, then rapidly gaining speed. The last I looked at Ziavir, he gave me a single wave and the beginning of a smile. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it burning in my skull. It didn’t make sense that he would tie up so many hostages, and then escape without asking the cops for ransom.

  That’s not typical hostage 101.

  What kind of message was he trying to send?

  I picked my way free of the handcuffs, and rushed into the conductor’s station, hoping to stop the monorail. The conductor lay dead on the floor and the control panel was smashed to pieces.

  Somehow Ziavir must be controlling the train remotely.

  If I’d had my earpiece I would have asked Michael to hack into the monorail and stop the train—if that was even possible.

  “Wait…fireworks? Why did he say that? Ziavir wouldn’t have said that unless it meant something. Fireworks explode with fire. Fireworks go boom. And so do—”

  It hit me suddenly and my heart stopped. I shouted, “There’s a bomb on this train!”

  I raced back into the first car. My mind raced and my heart thudded, but I had to think things through. Ziavir and his thugs jumped ship just before entering the next station—Clark Lake station, the busiest station in the entire city, always packed with thousands of people day and night. If a bomb was on the monorail countless lives were in danger. And I was the only one here able to save them. I looked out the window and instantly wanted to curl up in hopeless surrender. We were fewer than five minutes to the station.

  Think, Griffon. Think!

  I replayed every word Ziavir said to me, hoping to see if he dropped any clues. Seconds ticked, and I had nothing to show for it. The hostages shouted muffled cries at me to free them. I used my sleeve to wipe sweat from my forehead. I was not used to feeling this stressed out, with my life on the line. Maybe, if he didn’t say anything to give away his plan, he showed me clues. Then, it hit me! Right before Ziavir left he tapped his cane on one of the floor panels, at the exact moment he made the fireworks comment. He left me with a clue on purpose! He “told” me about the bomb and where to find it!

  I didn’t take the time to question why he would do that. Instead I dove on all fours and dug my fingernails into the central panel to lift it up. I admit that using my bare hands to lift a floor panel that was screwed to the floor wasn’t my brightest moment. All I got for my efforts were bloody fingertips. I looked around for something, anything, to pry open the panel. Near the end of the car sat a man wearing a tool belt around his waist. I wondered why the man hadn’t used the tools to release himself. I clocked it up to fear and a higher brain functioning in him than me and ran to the man. He struggled and bounced up and down in his seat as I approached.

  Poor guy. I can’t let you free just yet.

  I ripped the tool belt off him and dropped to all fours on the panel again. I couldn’t understand why Ziavir told me about the bomb to begin with. Why did he give me such aid at the same time he was trying to kill us? Maybe he didn’t wish to kill me specifically, but, if so, nothing made sense. He could have kept his clues to himself and I would have died an ignorant man. He told me for some reason, some game he was playing. I’d been thrown into the middle of something bigger than I knew. I could feel that to be true in my bones. I just did not understand what it was.

  I worked as fast as I could. Using one of the screwdrivers to remove the screws in the floor, I tore away the panel. Eventually a large gaping hole in the center of the monorail car revealed the tracks speeding below. A large axle system dangled between me and the ground. Hanging onto to the axle system was a large silver canister with a digital clock ticking down time. I’d finally caught a break except according to the clock, I had about two and a half minutes to try to figure out how to disarm a bomb.

  I grabbed a knife from the tool belt and leaned upside down into the hole. Blood rushed to my head. Wind and small pebbles slapped my face. My eyes watered and my vision blurred. This wasn’t how I’d imagined my night would go. I used the flathead screwdriver to loosen the top cover of the bomb. I got three of the four screws out before we hit a bump and I dropped my screwdriver. It bounced against the axle and then fell, never to be seen again.

  “Perfect, just perfect! Why did this have to happen to me?” I shouted.

  The clock said less than two minutes now, no time for me to cry over spilled milk. I drove my knife under the lid and fought to pry it off, a rather difficult task while hanging upside down. With a glorious cry of scraping steel the lid ripped free and flew away. I had about a minute left on the clock.

  Where has all my time gone?

  Lying before me was another problem, however. Seven wires of seven different colors were arrayed inside. I had the strangest gut feeling that at least one of them would save me and the rest…well…boom! That’s how it works in the movies right?

  Could it be the red, or the blue? Or maybe it was the yellow one. Then again, the green one was thicker.

  I was dumbfounded and running out of time. The blood filling my head made me nauseous and caused my ears to pound. My eyes stung as sweat dropped from my eyes and landed on the bomb. My ribs screamed in pain with each breath, my knees and shoulders ached from bouncing across the monorail, my head stung from the blow to the back of it, and knowing this could be my last few moments, I thought sadly only that I’d skipped lunch today.

  I always thought I would at least die on a full stomach.

  I heard commotion as we approached Clark Lake station. Potentially hundreds if not thousands would be killed if I didn’t choose the correct wire. I had no choice. I played a professional game of eeny, meeny, miney, moe.

  Hey, what’s could I do in a situation like this?

  Thirty seconds!

  My hands shook.

  What was I doing? Oh, why did it have to be me? I should have listened to Gabriel when he told me not to jump onto the train!

  I decided on the green wire. I fumbled to get it in my fingers. I pressured the knife against green, ready to cut, when I saw it. There was a thin, clear wire, invisible to me until the light perfectly reflected off it.

  Is this some kind of sign?

  I quickly checked the clock. Fifteen seconds!

  I didn’t think. I acted. I let go of the green wire and reached farther down to grab the thin clear wire. It was difficult to get to and cost me precious seconds.

  Seven seconds!

  The monorail came to a stop. I could hear the doors open and people moving around. I quickly fumbled with my knife to get it pressed against the wire about to cut.

  Four seconds!

  A woman screamed in terror, likely seeing the dead Noble lady tied up.

  Now or never!

  I sliced through the wire, or at least I tried to. The coating, though thin, was flexible and it bent under the force of my knife. It cut in two just as the clock hit one second, and the clock froze.

  I…I actually did it!

  Strong arms pulled me away from the bomb. I gasped for air, realizing I’d held my breath all this time.

  “Hey—,” was all I could get out as someone spun me around and punched me in the face. I blacked out for the second time that night. But at least I did it, I saved all those people.

  I guess this makes
me something of a hero.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I woke up sitting in a small enclosed room with one door, and one giant mirror. The wonders of television told me the mirror was probably see-through which meant this was a classic interrogation room. I figured I sat in the office building of the NPFC. Hopefully waking up here would turn out better than where I last woke. At least I wasn’t handcuffed to anything this time…yet. But the fact of waking up here made me start to panic.

  I’m in a NPFC interrogation room!

  Outcasts never fared well here, much less this room. We aren’t allowed lawyers or the right to due process like Nobles. By order of the Emperor himself, the NPFC could harass Outcasts anyway they liked: harassment, blackmail, threats, or even physical assault to a violent degree all in the name of the law. And many took advantage of that freedom on a regular basis. It wasn’t uncommon for any average Outcast to be scooped up off the streets by the NPFC in the middle of the night, beaten to near death, and then dumped on the street, barely breathing the next morning all in the name of their corrupt justice system. That happened to me twice in my life. As an Outcast, I had no legal recourse. Each time I spent weeks recovering from the near death beating. Many Outcasts aren’t so lucky.

  Why am I here? Is it because of the monorail…or…has my identity as the Shaman already ended before it could ever begin? I’ve already let Gabriel down!

  While I wanted to scream and cry out in fear, I couldn’t show my panic—not to these people. I had to get out of here before trouble started. It would undoubtedly happen with me here. I could be in more danger now than on the monorail! I feared I had simply replaced one evil for another. I leapt from my chair and reached for the door knob. As soon as my fingers grazed the knob, the door flew open and two Nobles barged in. One was a short bald man with a squared jaw who smelled of bourbon and tobacco. His eyes were dark and menacing and he gritted his teeth, affirming my suspicion of tobacco by his stained teeth and fingernails. He wore a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants and shoes, and he wore a shoulder holster which held a pistol.