by AJ Steiger
“I suppose.”
We enter the tunnel, which isn’t large enough to stand up in, or even crouch. Ian takes the lead, Steven the rear. The walls are rough earth, held up here and there with wooden beams, and fine grains of dirt fall down around us as we crawl, giving me the panicky sense that the roof will cave in at any moment. I try not to think about how many bugs, rats or snakes are probably squiggling and scuttling around in here. My own heartbeat is deafening.
We keep crawling through the narrow, claustrophobic space for what feels like hours. Then it opens up, and suddenly, we’re standing in a wide, shadowy subway tunnel with splashes of graffiti on the walls, bright streaks of color lit up by our light against the dull brown brick.
Steven squints, pointing his flashlight in one direction, then the other. He motions for us, and we start walking. The walls magnify our footsteps. All of this feels vaguely familiar, yet distant, like a place from childhood, though I know not much time has passed since I last set foot in here. Once, I spot a pair of other people—an old man and a woman, their faces black with dirt, huddled by a foul-smelling fire. They watch us suspiciously, the whites of their eyes brilliant in the darkness.
We only have to walk for a few minutes before we find ourselves standing before a pair of looming, rusted metal doors. Steven opens a panel on the adjacent wall, revealing the pad of a biometric scanner, incongruous amid the crumbling brick. He presses a thumb to the panel, which flashes lime green, and the doors swing open, revealing the wide entrance room, the towering metal walls. We enter, and the doors thunder shut behind us.
I remember this place. A rush of images and emotions sweeps over me, and I lean against the wall.
Steven grips my arm, steadying me. “Are you—”
“Fine.” My chest suddenly feels too small.
“Breathe,” Ian reminds me.
I nod, resting my hands on my knees until I’ve caught my breath.
“Well, hello.”
I freeze, feeling like I’ve just stepped off the edge of a cliff. Slowly, I look up to see Nicholas standing in the hallway, clad in his usual long black coat, his white hair swept back from his brow, plastered to his scalp with shiny gel. He’s flanked by two muscular, armed Blackcoats—a man with a panther tattoo on his neck and a bald woman with black lipstick and spiky piercings.
My pulse thuds like a hammer, drowning out my thoughts. Nicholas narrows his eyes. For a moment, none of us moves. I’m afraid to speak, afraid to breathe. He smiles without showing teeth. “It appears the rescue mission was a success, after all. I must admit, I didn’t have high hopes that you’d return, but I’m delighted to see you here.”
“Well, we’re glad to be back,” Ian says, his tone cautiously neutral.
“Rhee and the others arrived a few days ago, but they weren’t sure you’d managed to escape.” Nicholas takes a step forward. His gaze locks onto me. “So, Ms. Fisher. I gather you don’t remember me. Or this place.”
“No.”
His eyes search mine, and his facial muscles tighten. I struggle to keep my expression blank. Don’t panic, I tell myself. He can’t possibly know that I have my memories back.
“You must be tired,” he says. “Shall I escort you to your rooms?”
“We can find our own way, thanks,” Steven says.
“I insist.”
There’s not much else we can do. Resisting would suggest we have something to hide. Reluctantly, we follow. The two Blackcoats march at our sides, pistols glinting in the holsters at their hips.
Nicholas peers at me over one shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
“It’s been very frightening,” I reply, speaking slowly. “I barely know what’s going on.”
“I can imagine. IFEN’s brainwashing techniques are sophisticated and thorough.”
“Hey,” Steven calls, “this isn’t the way to the dorm wing.”
Nicholas stops suddenly and raises a hand, and his Blackcoat guards draw their pistols. “I hope you’ll understand why I’m about to do this.”
“What the hell is going on?” Ian asks.
Ice threads through my veins. The Blackcoats keep their guns trained on us.
“Zebra’s death occurred around the same time that Lain vanished—which, you must admit, is a bit suspicious. We can’t assume she’s trustworthy until she’s given a thorough interrogation. And I want to make sure you two gentlemen don’t interfere.” He glances at the guards. “Restrain Ms. Fisher.”
This is bad. I stand, paralyzed, my mind racing in a thousand directions.
Ian flings himself in front of me, forming a barrier between me and the guards. “Wait!”
“Out of the way,” the male Blackcoat growls, finger on the trigger.
Ian doesn’t move. His arms remain outstretched, as if that will stop a bullet. “Lain sacrificed herself to save me and Rhee and the others,” he says firmly. “She’s not a traitor, and you know it.”
“But she’s been under the control of the enemy,” Nicholas says. “We don’t know what they’ve done to her mind. This is a necessary precaution.”
“Bullshit,” Steven snaps.
“Steven,” I whisper, a warning in my tone. The very air feels charged with electricity, as if the smallest movement, the softest word will ignite it. Nicholas’ skin is drawn tight over the bones of his face, his teeth bared. His hatred is a tangible force emanating from him like an aura. He wants us dead. Probably the only reason he hasn’t given the order to fire is because acting too quickly will blow his cover.
Whatever happens, we can’t let them lock us up. If we do, we’ll never get out. Nicholas will make sure of that.
I take a cautious step forward, past Ian. He starts to reach out toward me, to stop me, but I push his arm down and turn toward the nearest Blackcoat—the woman with the pierced nose and eyebrows. Her eyes are dark and alert, and I see her finger twitch on the trigger. “We just want to talk to Rhee,” I say. “Or Burk, whoever you can find first.”
Her teeth catch on her black-painted lip, tugging, and I realize suddenly how young she is—not more than fifteen or sixteen.
“I’m in charge here,” Nicholas says. “Whatever they want to say, they can say it here and now.”
“Fine,” Steven says. “Then I’ll say it. You’re the traitor. You murdered Zebra.”
The guards’ faces go blank with confusion. “What?” the man says.
Nicholas’ expression darkens. “That’s quite an accusation. Are you prepared to back it up with evidence?” Silence. “No, then?”
This is bad. This is very bad.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t bother arresting you,” Nicholas says. “Perhaps I should just have you shot right here.”
The girl’s eyes dart back and forth. “Do you really want to kill them? If we bring them in for questioning—”
Nicholas whirls toward her. “Should I question your loyalty as well?”
She takes a nervous step back.
In a blur of movement, Steven draws a pistol and aims it at Nicholas, but his hands are shaking. Sweat glistens on his temple, and I can see the pulse fluttering beneath the surface. “Let us through,” he says.
“So you’re threatening me now?” Nicholas tilts his head. “You’ve never actually made a kill, have you?” His tone is strangely conversational. Casual, almost.
A bead of sweat trickles down Steven’s neck. His finger quivers on the trigger. “You don’t think I’ll shoot, if you make a move? Try me.”
My ears are ringing. I don’t know what to do, what to say. Everything is spinning out of control.
Nicholas’ fingers twitch and curl, as if they want to sprout claws. Then he folds his hands in front of him and smiles suddenly, magnanimously. “Clearly, there’s been some misunderstanding. We all lost our tempers. Things got a little out of hand. But this doesn’t need to end in bloodshed. We’re all on the same side, aren’t we?”
“I doubt that,” Steven mutters. He doesn’
t budge.
Nicholas extends an open hand toward Steven, who flinches. “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll take you to Rhee and Burk, and we’ll all talk this out.” As he speaks, his other hand moves toward something at his hip.
“Steven!” I scream.
The next few things happen in a blur. Nicholas pulls out a pistol. Before he can raise it, a crack splits the air, and he staggers backward, a bullet hole in his chest. The gun slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor. He coughs, and blood dribbles from his mouth, thick and dark as he slumps against the wall and slides down, leaving a crimson smear.
Ian takes a step back, face white. I press a hand to my mouth and choke down the scream that fills my throat. The two guards watch, jaws hanging. Steven stands rigidly, a pistol clutched in both hands, smoke trailing from the muzzle. His eyes are enormous and dazed.
Nicholas lets out a low groan. He coughs, and more blood bubbles from his lips. His eerily perfect blue eyes roll toward me, and his lips stretch into something between a grimace and a smile. “Twenty-four hours,” he rasps. “You’re all—” another cough—“going to die.”
“What do you mean?” Ian asks. He grabs the front of Nicholas’ shirt. “What’s going to happen in twenty-four hours?”
Nicholas laughs, then his voice breaks off in a wet rattle, and he goes still.
The pistol trembles in Steven’s hands, slips from his fingers and hits the floor.
For a few seconds, no one moves.
I’ve seen death before. I felt Zebra die. Yet watching the life leave someone’s body, that moment when a sentient being becomes an inanimate hunk of meat, still feels so… unnatural. So wrong. There are times when death itself feels like a mistake.
The din of approaching footsteps breaks the silence, and I look up just in time to see Rhee and Burk striding toward us, rifles drawn. They stop.
“What the hell is going on here?” Burk asks.
The girl with the piercings slowly turns toward him. Her gun hangs limp and forgotten from her hands. “He said we’re all going to die.” Her voice sounds faraway. “He said it would happen in twenty-four hours.”
“Who did?”
“Nicholas.” Ian steps forward. “He was working with IFEN. He was the one who killed Zebra. And he tried to kill Steven, just now. Steven shot him in self-defense.”
“Impossible.” But Burk looks shaken. “This is absurd. You—” He points at the guards. “Restrain these three. Lock them up.”
Rhee holds up a hand. “Everyone, take it easy. I’ll review the security footage. In the meantime, the three of you will be confined to your rooms. You’ll be questioned separately. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
I have to hand it to her—she’s very functional in a crisis.
“Rhee, you know we aren’t traitors,” Ian says.
“Just a precaution,” Rhee says. “I believe you’re innocent, but if you cooperate this will go much more smoothly.”
Steven still hasn’t spoken a word. The zombie-like way he stands there, staring at the body, worries me. I have the sense that he’s drifting away. “Steven,” I say quietly. He blinks twice and turns his head toward me. “Are you all right?”
“I—yeah. Fine.”
Nicholas’ eyes are still open, his head tilted at an odd angle. He seems to be staring at me, his mouth twisted into a loose grimace, teeth bared. I’ll probably see that image in my nightmares.
“Burk, keep an eye on Steven and Ian. Lain, come with me,” Rhee says, interrupting my thoughts.
I hesitate.
“They’ll be fine. I promise.”
Reluctantly, I follow her down the hall. My mind seems to be floating somewhere above my body. It’s surreal, being back in the Citadel after everything that happened. The familiar, muffled thump of machinery emanates through the walls and floor.
“I take it you’ve recovered your memories,” she remarks.
“Yes. Well, mostly.”
Rhee simply nods.
After we’ve been walking a few minutes, she opens a door. When I recognize the room beyond, I take an involuntary step back. This is where Nicholas interrogated me after the failed mission. As I stare at the four blank walls surrounding the table and two chairs, my chest seems to shrink. I remember the flash of pain as he backhanded me across the face.
“You won’t be harmed,” Rhee says, her voice softening slightly. “I’ll make sure of that. Just wait here. You’ll be questioned shortly.”
“All right.” I hesitate. “Rhee… you believe me, don’t you? I know there are people who believe that I’m the traitor. I’m not. I swear.”
“I know.”
The tightness inside me loosens. I don’t know why her opinion matters so much, but it does. “Thank you.”
For a moment, she just stands there, staring straight ahead, and I’m not sure if she’s waiting for me to go inside or if she’s forgotten about me entirely. “So. Nicholas is the one who murdered Zebra,” she says finally, low and pensive. “Are you certain of that?”
“Yes. Zebra told me. Before he died. I know it sounds crazy, but he put some kind of implant in my head to communicate with me while I was in IFEN headquarters.”
“I see.” Still, she doesn’t look at me. I remember her telling me how she owed Zebra her life, how he saved her from a rough, half-starved existence in the Underground. He meant something to her. And now he’s dead.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“About… you know. What happened to him.”
“Not your fault.” A moment of awkward silence passes. “Go on in,” she says.
I step into the room. She turns to go.
“Rhee, wait,” I blurt out. She stops, and I’m left fumbling for words. I’m not even sure what I want to say to her, but I have to say something. “I—I never really thanked you.”
“For what?”
“For training me. For making me stronger. I don’t think I’d have survived this long, if not for you.”
A tiny furrow appears between her brows. “I was doing my job. You don’t need to thank me.”
“I want to. Not because I feel obligated to. Because I’m grateful. Just accept it. Please?”
She hesitates… then gives a small nod. “You’re welcome.” She opens her mouth, as if she’s about to say something else. Then she closes it and presses a panel on the wall. The door slides shut, and the echoes of her receding footsteps fade into silence, leaving me alone. I slump in my chair, resting my cheek against the cool surface of the tabletop.
My whole body aches like a collection of bruises, and the inside of my head is a jumbled mess. It feels like I’ve been through more in the past seventy-two hours than any human being should be sensibly expected to endure in a lifetime. Then again, the fact that I’m alive at all is a miracle, after all the risks I took. Some far off part of me wants to cry, but it feels like a waste of energy. Mostly, I just want to sit here, staring blankly at the wall.
Steven’s face floats up behind my eyes. I see the gun quivering in his hands, the deadness in his expression. His first kill.
The door clicks open, and I sit up, jolted from my reverie. Burk wheels in a cart. Sitting atop it is my Gate. Ian walks in behind him, expression solemn. There’s a nervous flutter in my stomach.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Burk pulls up a chair. His habitual grim visage is a bit more severe than usual. “You’re going to show us some of your memories. Your friend is here because he’s currently the only person in the Citadel who knows how to use a Gate, but I’ll be watching him very carefully. If either of you tries anything funny, there will be repercussions. Understand?”
I nod.
We sit, facing each other, as Ian places a helmet over my head, then dons his own. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “This’ll go quickly.”
All I want right now is to talk to Steven. I need to be sure he’s okay. But the sooner I cooperate, the sooner this will be over
with. “Go ahead.”
Ian turns on the Gate, which projects a screen into the air, displaying a rotating image of my brain. Burk scowls at it as if it’s some sort of technological voodoo. He pokes at the screen with a thick finger. Ian clears his throat. “Let me handle this, please.”
Burk crosses his arms over his chest.
Ian touches a corner of the screen, and it goes blank. “I’m switching to visual mode now.” He hands a pair of earbuds to Burk. “This will allow you to listen in, even without a helmet, while you watch the screen. Lain—pull your visor down and focus on seeing the memories clearly in your head. We’ll start with the mission to blow up the database in Toronto. Go back to the beginning.”
My breath comes short and fast. This isn’t something I want to relive, but I pull down the dark visor, close my eyes, and bring up that moment—the rumble of the engine, the faint smell of smoke, the green numbers of a digital clock glowing through the darkness.
Ian guides me through the session, his voice soft and gentle, a path to follow through the forest of emotion. I show him the interrogation session after the failed mission, followed by my meeting with Zebra. I try to forget Burk’s presence and imagine that I’m just showing this to Ian. It makes it easier, just a little. But as I move through my time in IFEN headquarters, I start to shake.
Ian places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. You’ve given us enough.”
I exhale an unsteady breath and pull my helmet off. Sweat drenches my hair.
“Put that back on,” Burk says. “We’re not done yet.”
“What more do you want?” Ian asks, anger heating his voice. “Swan tortured her. If that isn’t proof that she’s not working with IFEN, what is?”
“This still doesn’t prove Nicholas was the traitor.”
“We heard him threaten, with his dying words, that we were all going to die. And the security footage confirms it. We’re wasting time here. We need to be figuring out what we’re going to do about this attack.”
Burk huffs and pushes himself away from the table. “Personally, I think it was a bluff. If IFEN were capable of attacking us, they would have done it already.”
Maybe he’s right—maybe Nicholas just threatened us out of anger. But something in my gut tells me otherwise. “IFEN already knows our location,” I say quietly. “International treaties have held them back, until now, but things are changing. Jackal said there are curfews in Canada now. And we drove through a checkpoint to get here. That’s IFEN’s influence at work. The border won’t keep them out much longer.”
