'And why is that? What makes you humans so special? Humanity? Answer me this: in what world is it 'human' to slaughter and kill other creatures who have just as much right to inhabit the world, for food and sport?'
Bermuda stepped back, steadying himself as Barnaby continued.
'What is so glorious about a race of people who will slaughter one another in the name of an unproven god, yet claim there is more than one? Or a world where the majority are dying of illness and famine, yet the rich and powerful withhold the necessary treatments to increase their pathetic reliance on wealth?'
Barnaby shook his head in frustration.
'Don't you dare tell me your world is any better than mine. Open your eyes, Bermuda. You will see a whole lot more if you choose to.'
'I've seen more than enough in my time.'
'Your time? Your measly thirty-four years walking this planet are no more than a blip on the map of time. Try watching your world fall apart for centuries, confined to a darkness that not even you could comprehend. What pain could you possibly know?'
Bermuda's mind quickly flashed to an image of Angela and Chloe, the three of them walking through a park with nothing but love and laughter for company.
'I've given my fair share to this world.'
'Ah, yes. The BTCO. Keeping the peace and maintaining the balance.' Barnaby clicked his tongue around his mouth. 'What is the creed again? Two worlds. One peace?'
Bermuda didn't answer, his eyes scanning for any other routes of escape. Barnaby continued, his eyes burning like coal.
'Tell me, Bermuda. Why save a world that doesn't believe it needs to be saved?'
'Just because others don't have my curse doesn't mean they don't deserve a normal life.'
'And what is a normal life? Being blind and naïve to what truly goes on and what is resigned to the shadows of your pathetic existence? Or is a normal life one where you see behind ‘the curtain,’ as your organisation so poetically calls it?'
Barnaby shook his head, the top hat swaying atop his skull. Beneath the floorboards below, a congregation of his people slithered amongst themselves, trying to survive in a world that refused to acknowledge them.
'Where are you taking those people?'
'They are mine now.'
'What have you done with them?' Bermuda demanded. Barnaby flashed him a look of sinister glee.
'I took what they have taken for granted. A free passage and existence in this world. Each and every one of them, they have all passed through and they belong to me now. I can feel them; their connection to this world is coursing through my veins like an unstoppable cancer. And soon...soon I shall be the same.'
'Nothing is unstoppable.'
'Naivety is a cruel trait that you humans are blessed with. Soon I shall be as at one with this world as you are. The clock is ticking for your race, Bermuda. And I am the judgement when those seconds run out. What do you do, Bermuda, when something finally loses its power?'
'You replace it?'
Barnaby sneered, dissatisfied.
'You remove it entirely.'
Bermuda shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. Barnaby turned, admiring the brickwork of the wall before him.
'Tell me again, Bermuda. Why are you humans in control of this world?'
'Because we are the dominant species.'
Barnaby turned to face him again, his jagged teeth contorted in a ferocious snarl. His words shot out like whispered bullets.
'Not anymore.'
Before Bermuda could even move, Barnaby shot across the room, his movements faster and sharper than anything seen by human eyes. Through the blackness of the blur, a bony hand shot forward, the palm striking Bermuda in the centre of the chest. The body armour that protectively encased his torso shook, the power of the blow rupturing the layers and shaking Bermuda's rib cage like a rattle. The pain was monumental.
Bermuda felt is internal organs scatter, his feet swept off the ground as he hurtled towards the concrete wall behind him. The brick and cement shattered like glass as he exploded through, the sheer force of the strike reducing the wall to confetti around him. The impact hammered the back of his skull and shoulders, the world suddenly going fuzzy as his consciousness swirled.
Launched from the room, he hit the floor, sliding down the walkways supported above Others’ Town. Brick rained down on the Others below, confusion breaking out and spreading through the 'town' like a virus.
Bermuda rolled onto his front, gasping for the breath that had been driven out of him. His hands shuffled for balance, gripping broken pieces of brick and stone with broken fingers.
Barnaby stepped through the Bermuda-shaped hole in the wall, his footsteps slow and measured as he stalked his prey. A sinister grin appeared across his scarred face. As Bermuda pushed himself onto all fours, Barnaby launched a thunderous kick to the ribs, breaking a couple of bones on impact. The strength of the vengeful Other launched Bermuda up into the air, shattering through the glass banister that surrounded the platform. Hurtling fifteen feet, he slammed through a table, the otherworldly goods it displayed exploding over the panicked consumers like a snowstorm.
Bermuda's world went black.
As the Others gathered around in confusion and concern, they began to part as Argyle raced through, his shoulder shoving those still obstructing. He slowed down, quickly checking on Bermuda, who lay amongst the wreckage, before racing to the stairs, bounding them three at a time. His footsteps echoed across the platform above, hundreds of eyes peering up at him as he searched methodically, one hand drawn to the handle of his sword that adorned his back.
Each platform was empty.
Every room was clean.
Barnaby had gone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BERMUDA'S EYES SLOWLY opened, revealing the white-tiled ceiling that greeted him earlier that day. For the second time in the space of twenty-four hours, he was waking up in a room hundreds of feet beneath the Shard. He rub his bruised eye and slowly sat up, groaning with anguish at the crunching in his chest.
'You have three broken ribs.'
Vincent’s calm voice filtered through the air and Bermuda reached for a glass of water.
'Ottoway is waiting outside. He would like to see you.'
'Whatever,' Bermuda grumpily replied, shuffling through his personal effects which lay on the bedside table. He slid a cigarette out of its box as Vincent opened the door. The authoritative figure of Ottoway bounded in as Bermuda flicked his lighter to life.
'This is a no-smoking facility,' Ottoway stated, his voice borderline angry. It worsened when the response was a cloud of smoke. 'What did I tell you in regards to protecting public property?'
Bermuda winced; fresh bandages circled his increasingly beaten body. He took another puff, letting the nicotine soothe his throat.
'Something about not breaking it.'
'Exactly.' Hands on hips, Ottoway was not impressed. 'So tell me how the hell you managed to smash another hole through a wall?'
Bermuda sat silently, not wanting another facetious comment to get him in more trouble.
'I understand you were attacked, Jones. But you need to ensure we keep a low profile. Leaving a trail of damage to public property raises questions, and our existence already causes too many people too many worries.'
'Forgive me if I don't feel their pain,' Bermuda said, shaking his head as he stubbed out the cigarette.
'Well I do. The Committee are discussing disciplinary sanctions as we speak. I have been kept out of it on account of bias.'
'Bias?' Bermuda scoffed. 'I'm a pain in the arse.'
'Quite. But you are also a damn good agent.'
Bermuda nodded his thanks, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He ached, longing for a pint of Doombar and his own bed.
'Can I have a shirt, please?'
Vincent glided across the room, his elegance cutting through the tension as he obliged Bermuda. He uncomfortably slid it over his head, his hair messy and unkempt.
'Where is Argyle?'<
br />
'Argyle is in the Archive, reviewing his report. We have concerns that he left you unattended.'
Bermuda laughed.
'Concerns? You should be concerned that if Argyle hadn't been there I would most likely have been dead. Twice in the last day I have been attacked by that world. Argyle isn't a concern, he's a goddamn saving grace!'
'Well, we shall review his actions later. The Governance have also questioned your actions over the last twenty-four hours and have requested a meeting.'
'The Governance? What the hell has it got to do with them?' Bermuda moaned, knowing full well why. The Governance were the council that managed the truce between our world and the Otherside. A clan of eight elderly Others, all of whom despised Bermuda for his ability to walk through their world.
His intrusion, so to speak.
'The Governance have just as much as authority as our committee.' Ottoway spoke with a calm assurance. 'Let's face it—your actions haven't exactly been subtle.'
Bermuda rolled his eyes as he plonked his feet onto the cold tiled floor. His face ached, the searing pain in his cranium bouncing around like a ping-pong ball. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The bruising around the cut that framed his eye was a dark purple. A few splatters of blood were beginning to splatter his T-shirt. His chest wounds would take a while to heal properly.
Time he didn't have right now.
Not with Barnaby still out there.
'Who the hell is Barnaby?'
Bermuda's question filled the room with tension; Ottoway and Vincent exchanged awkward glances. Angrily slamming two Tic Tacs into his mouth, Bermuda shuffled back to the bed, resting on the edge of it with his tattooed arms crossed.
'Well?' Bermuda asked, his eyes shooting back and forth between the two most senior members of the BTCO.
Vincent sighed.
'Hundreds of years ago, the connection between your world and ours was discovered. The first to go through and return were amazed at the sheer colour and vibrancy of your world. The potential. You have seen my world, Franklyn; you know how dark it is. We saw Earth as a second chance.
'For the first hundred or so years, my people lived quietly within the confines of your world. The odd discrepancy, yet your race is so young and undeveloped it went unnoticed. It was only when humanity became educated that we slowly began to be discovered.'
Vincent slowly walked across the room, forcing himself from making eye contact. Bermuda looked at him, a look of boredom on his face.
'Barnaby was one of the first to oppose the truce that was struck between these two worlds. He felt that it would weaken their position, would make them remove their power. He believed that the strongest should lay claim to the world and tried to rally an invasion.'
'Sounds like an arsehole,' Bermuda said, stretching his back and feeling his broken ribs click.
'Well, you had the pleasure of meeting him today,' Ottoway chimed in. 'How did that go?'
'Point taken.'
'Eventually, the decision was made to imprison him.' Vincent continued, as if talking about the past was painful. 'He tried to overthrow the general of the Legion, but was captured. They burnt him with the mark of the traitor. Three permanent scars that run deep through his face. Then they threw him in the darkest hole and threw away their strongest key.'
'Hate to break it to you, Vincent. But that didn't fucking work.' Bermuda pushed himself off the bed and walked past the senior figures in his room, pouring a glass of water and draining it in one swig. 'He ain't locked away anymore.'
'Yes. Well, we suspected he may have been involved but we didn't want to concern you needlessly. Especially with your temper.'
'My temper? He almost fucking killed me! A heads-up would have been nice.' Bermuda shook his head, frustration taking control.
Ottoway stepped forward.
'We were curious as to a few dead bodies found on the Otherside recently. They led to nowhere, but it now seems likely it led to Barnaby's escape. Wherever he found or forged that Gate-Maker, we don't know. We just know he needs to be stopped. We can't let him open a doorway and not know what he is bringing in.'
'Or sending out,' Bermuda mused.
'Excuse me?'
'He isn't killing these people. Jessica, that American from the ship. That list you gave me, they were all two days apart. Every two days, he seems to opening a doorway—but he isn't killing them.'
'What could he possibly want with humans?' Ottoway asked, his chubby face writhing with confusion.
'I don't know. He said they belong to him now. That they were coursing through him like a cancer.'
Vincent suddenly turned around, facing them both. His sharp face was awash with worry.
'Vincent?' Ottoway asked, concern for his friend obvious.
'It can't be.'
'What?' Bermuda asked, slowly feeding his arms into his hoody.
'What else did he say?' Vincent demanded, his voice rising with the tension.
'That they were passing through. That soon he will be as connected to this world as I am, or some shit like that.'
'A convergence?' Ottoway asked.
Bermuda's eyes shot between the two of them as Vincent slowly nodded. Ottoway shook his head in disbelief, his thought process playing out through the sternness of his face.
'I must inform the Committee. This is a serious matter.'
Ottoway turned on his heel and marched out as Vincent watched him leave. Bermuda watched the Neither, admiring the calmness of his movements despite the increasing levels of fear.
'So what the hell is a convergence?'
Vincent extended and placed a comforting hand on Bermuda's shoulder.
'A convergence is a joining of two worlds at an unplanned section.'
'Meaning?'
'Barnaby is trying to fuse himself with this world. Genetics is what binds humans to this world, just as genetics denies them the ability to interact with Others. There are anomalies in the code. Hence your abilities.'
'My curse.'
Your gift,' Vincent corrected. 'However, you are the anomaly amongst the anomalies, aren't you? The only one to have gone to the Otherside and returned. You are what Barnaby craves. The corridor between the two realms. The doorway to a different future.'
'He wants to merge himself with our world?' Bermuda asked, not wanting to discuss his issue.
'Yes. He takes their life essence, stealing the genetic coding that merges him with your world. Just like you are still doing with mine.'
Bermuda looked up, shocked, to a comforting smile.
'I don't know what you are talking about.'
'Please. Franklyn. It is just us in the room, and do me the decency of not thinking me a fool.'
Bermuda shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, looking towards the door which Ottoway had slammed shut behind him. They were completely alone.
'How long have you known?'
'I had my suspicions early on. It doesn't make sense for someone to travel through such a shift in atmosphere and there not be some symptoms.'
Bermuda sighed; a part of him that he wanted to keep to himself was slowly slipping away. Just like every other part of his life, taken out of his control.
'So? What are they?'
They’re not symptoms as such. It's more of an effect.'
'An effect?' Vincent glided next to Bermuda, a concerned hand reached out. 'Tell me.'
'I can't tell you what it is. It just feels like the Otherside is trying to pull back. Every time I touch anything to do with it, be it the markings of the Gate-Maker or even when I punched that thing in the face earlier. Every time I touch it, I can feel it physically pulling me across.'
A moment of silence sat between them as Vincent pondered. Bermuda pulled out a cigarette, nervous fingers fumbling at the lighter. Vincent went to warn him of the rules, but thought better of it as a waft of smoke danced around the room.
'I will need to do some research. However, it would appear something from my world is fusin
g to your genetic coding and hasn't finished. Whatever it is, it seems to have connected with your gift.'
'Gift?' Bermuda questioned, flicking ash to the floor as he headed to the door.
'It is. You may not see it, but this is a truly wondrous gift.'
Bermuda stopped at the door, flicking the cigarette to the ground and turning back, his soul crushed.
'Gifts aren't supposed to ruin your life.' He forced a smile, in hope of a solution. 'See you around, Vincent.'
With that, Bermuda closed the door, leaving the senior Neither to ponder their chat and to prepare for the inevitable inquest from the Committee.
BERMUDA TRUDGED DOWN the corridor, the bright halogen bulbs above only adding to the throbbing pain that shook inside his skull. Each step was careful and considered; the impact of putting his weight down scraped his ribs together. The gashes across his chest were half opening. His eye had almost swollen shut.
He had been through hell in twenty-four hours.
Just as he rounded the corner, Bermuda swore to himself that his day couldn't get any worse. He proved himself wrong as he collided with none other than Hugo LaPone.
As they crashed into each other, a pain shot and squirmed through Bermuda like a bolt of lightning. French curse words sprang from Hugo's mouth; his perfectly chiselled face was even handsome whilst snarling.
'What are you blind?' Hugo remarked, before looking at the state of Bermuda's face. 'Well half, at least.'
'Brilliant. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to go home.'
Bermuda slowly stepped to the side only for Hugo to block his route.
'I heard you destroyed another wall. The docks. Yes?'
Bermuda nodded.
'You are, how you say, a complete fuckup?'
Bermuda chuckled silently before looking Hugo straight in the eye.
'Seriously, mate, I have had a pretty shit day. Now I'm going to get in that lift, I'm going to get on a train, and I'm going to go home. So please. If you don't mind.'
Again Bermuda tried to squeeze past and again Hugo stepped in his way.
'A real agent would not be going home. They would be out trying to fix the problems they have already caused. But you, Bermuda, with your pathetic nickname, think you are abo—'
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