by Katy Jordan
“I implore you to not try anything,” she warned.
“I’m pretty certain you’re not the one trained with guns, Flare. What you gonna do?”
“Just because this isn’t my primary skill, doesn’t mean I don’t know how, nor does it mean I’ve never done it before. Don’t try me, Jack,” she retorted.
Flare limped to the only door in and out of the basement.
Three bolts, two chains, and four locks secured it shut.
She unbolted and unchained it, and skilfully held the gun flat against the door and fired, breaking through all four locks. An irritated look of surprise hit Jack’s face as Flare held the gun out in front of her.
Turning the handle slowly, Flare flung the door open, ready for anyone else who may be on the premises. She walked up the dark stairway and into a small hallway.
Carefully, she proceeded through the downstairs of a house, ignoring the shocks of pain shooting through her body, clearing all the rooms. The detail was modern but basic; all white walls, all grey carpets, no pictures, no personal detail to anything.
A safe house.
Flare passed through the living room, edging her way around the dark brown leather sofa, and jumped at the sight of someone. The sight of her own reflection.
Stunned, she limped closer to the mirror.
She resembled a victim in a horror movie; a bloody face, an eight ball for an eye, her hair matted and unwashed hung like rats’ tails on to her pink T-shirt which was ripped and smeared with a mix of blood and sweat. Flare touched lightly at the cuts forced on to her face by Jack’s rings of torture and winced.
She ran her fingers delicately over the three puncture wounds to her stomach, which bled steadily, causing a river across the waistband of her pink jeans. Her fingers scraped and bloody, her thighs lashed and bloody, her legs beaten and bloody.
The only thing untouched were the feet on which she stood so weakly, her fuchsia trainers now a shade of deep pink with the blood that stained them.
Flare sighed, choking back the tears that she was now out of the torture chamber in the basement.
She was safe.
For now, anyway.
Her security check ended in the kitchen, and quickly, she clocked the phone hanging on the wall. Flare flung it to her ear, thrilled to hear a dialling tone. She punched the numbers like her life depended on it and waited for an answer.
“Yellow Youth,” said a voice.
“Youth, it’s Flare.”
“FLARE! What the hell happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine… sort of. I have no idea where I am. Can you trace this call?”
“Of course!” said Youth, almost insulted at the question. “I’ll get Gecko to come and bring you home.”
“Not just Gecko, Youth. It was Jack.”
“JACK? Holy shit… where is he?”
“He’s a little tied up at the moment,” Flare said, enjoying her pun.
“Okay. Well, you’ve been held for three days. Surely there’s food there?”
“There will be, somewhere,” Flare considered, “I’ll find something. But, this needs Colour Coded. So, send everyone.”
“I will. Just hang tight, okay? I’ve got your location, everyone’s on their way.”
“Thanks, Youth.”
Flare hung the phone back on the wall. She limped carefully over to the small, bland kitchen table and slumped into one of the seats. Her head fell backwards as she stared at the white ceiling, exhausted, in pain, longing for a long hot bath and a rested night’s sleep.
All that could be done now was to wait.
Colour Coded were on their way.
Chapter Two
In a grey room, all on his own, Jack squirmed in his restraints that ensured his attachment to the table at which he was seated. The handcuffs scored his wrists as he struggled while knowing all his attempts would inevitably fail. His black shirt crunched with every move, as the sweat which soaked him in the basement had dried into the material.
He couldn’t decide if he was in jail or in interrogation, but either way, he did not like his situation.
If Colour Coded didn’t kill him, Neon sure as hell would.
A camera situated in the corner of the room glared his way, the little red light winking at him mockingly. Jack was agitated.
How long was this going to take?
Was anyone ever going to talk to him?
What the hell were they doing?
With the tension building inside of him, he let out a roar and came close to a frenzied psychotic break as he swung his arms so much that the metal table nearly separated from the attachments to the floor like Velcro. He could feel the blood rushing to his face.
This was their plan.
They wanted him panicked, worried and anxious so that he would talk.
Instantly, Jack obstructed his urges to let his anger out.
He steadied his breathing.
He relaxed into the chair.
Closed his eyes.
Keep the upper hand, he told himself.
“Alright then. I’m sure your tea party that I wasn’t invited to is over, so why don’t you come in here and talk to me? I might have something interesting to say,” Jack announced loudly, knowing someone was watching him, and therefore, would hear him.
Moments later, the sound of keys jangling nearby could be heard.
Jack’s head bounced up like a dog being offered a bone at the thought that someone was finally coming in. The thick iron door opened, squeaking loudly before it hit against the wall. It revealed a young woman in her mid-twenties, her long brunette hair swept neatly into a bun.
Like him, she too was dressed all in black.
The sound of her knee-high heeled boots against the floor bounced off of every stone wall as she entered the room, closing the door behind her.
She stood.
The silence was insufferable.
Jack’s mind was racing.
Should he say something?
What should he say?
Something smart?
Something insulting?
Charming, petty, funny, enlightening? Should he even speak at all?
Finally, the woman walked towards the table, never for a second taking her eyes off of him and sat in front of him. She seemed strong, able and independent while contributing sheens of elegance and love when she needed or wanted to.
“Do you know who I am?”
Jack did not respond as he continued to look at her, evaluating every slight detail that was on show to him.
“Do you know who I am, Jack Burns?” she forced, placing her elbows gently on to the cold metallic table and clasping her fingers calmly.
Jack chuckled.
“Smooth. Letting me know that you know who I am,” he mocked. “No, I don’t know who you are. Should I?”
“If you work for Neon now, as you so claim, then yes, I’d imagine you would know who I am.”
“Well, I don’t. Neon only tells me what I need to know,” Jack explained, trying to keep his cool. “I’d formally introduce myself, but you already know who I am. So, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to right now?” The girl sat back in her chair and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
She gave him a continuous calculating stare, as if unsure whether to believe his formality was just who he was, or forced out to influence her reaction.
“I’m the hidden gem,” she stated.
“That means nothing to me.”
“Oh really? Well, what about the Black Bullet, does that mean anything to you? It should, you battered my colleague enough trying to find me!”
Jack’s jaw almost hit the shiny silver surface of the table as her words registered with him. Surely, she must be lying.
This girl’s capabilities are legendary!
He leaned forward, intrigued and not afraid to show it.
“The Black Bullet?” he asked in awe.
“That’s right,” she confirmed, “so, you know what I�
�m capable of, I’m sure. Your reaction tells me that my instincts are right.”
“Yeah, you’re right in saying that. I know what you’re capable of. You were Neon’s pride and joy.”
“I was Neon’s go-to to sort out all his problems, only to get nothing in return like he promised me. I was sick of it,” she exclaimed.
“So, you left him,” Jack affirmed.
“Yes.”
“And took another three members of the team with you.”
“Yes.”
“And started yourselves as Colour Coded instead of Prismatic and began taking on new recruits to broaden your team’s capabilities, like the Lavender Lab, for instance,” Bullet is suddenly filled with an immense perplexity.
“You know… you sure do know a lot for a man who claims to not know a lot,” she said, but Jack was too taken by her to even arrange words into the form of a sentence.
Bullet continued to gaze at him for a little bit, studying him, and decided to go straight to the issue at hand.
“The Fuschia Flare is in the hospital ward, Jack,” Bullet explained. “She’s in a rather bad way; malnourishment, blunt and sharp force trauma, a severe concussion. Our on-site doctor is having a field day trying to keep her on bed rest. Why did you want to find me? Or should I say, why does Neon want to find me?”
Jack considered what Bullet was saying.
He knew immediately that how she worded her last comment there was a threat. If he didn’t say what he needed to, Flare would ‘die’, and he would go to prison for the rest of his life, if not worse. If he told them what they wanted to know, Flare would live, and he would continue on as a free man.
He felt every part of him shake as he jiggled his foot nervously on the ground.
Neon would kill him either way.
“Jack… I don’t want to hurt you. But Neon? He’s a snake. You have to understand that we are a team. We protect our own, no matter what. He hurt one of us, and in doing so he hurt all of us. You were his weapon. Talk to us and we will help you. Why did Neon have you kidnap and torture the Fuchsia Flare? Why does he want my whereabouts known?” Bullet pleaded.
Jack sat rigid, having an argument with himself in his head.
He needed to know they were legit.
He needed information before he potentially opened a can of worms that he would probably later regret.
“Are there still only eight of you?”
“Answer the question, Jack,”
Jack and Bullet had what felt like the longest ever staring competition.
Finally, Bullet broke the trance and stood up.
“Fine. We tried. You’ve made your bed, you can lie in it.”
She headed for the door.
“No, wait, wait…” Jack persisted, frantically.
Bullet stopped as soon as Jack’s worried voice reached her ears.
She turned to face him impatiently.
“Look, I just want to know more about you. I need to know who I’m relaying information to and why before I divulge. It’s only fair,” Jack stated, hoping that she would return to her seat across from him.
Bullet held his pleading gaze. A part of her felt sorry for him.
This man was terrified.
“What are you scared of, Jack?”
“NEON! You worked for him! You know what he’s like, he’s ruthless,” Jack cried. “People are dying. People are dying all because he wants you lot either back or dead!”
Bullet returned to her seat.
She reached over and held Jack’s bound hands.
“We won’t let anything happen to you, Jack. Talk to us. Talk to me. Why does he want to know where I am?”
“Prove to me that you really are the Black Bullet,” Jack requested.
Bullet sighed with irritation, coldly letting go of his restrained hands.
This was ridiculous!
He kidnapped her friend, the girl that was as good as a sister to her, and he wanted proof that they weren’t dangerous?
Bullet caved.
“See over on that wall there, that little spider crawling up towards the ceiling?”
Jack looked over his shoulder and squinted to focus his sights on the spider in question.
“Yeah,” he said, turning back to face her, “yeah, what about…”
BANG!
Jack almost created an outline of himself on the ceiling as he jumped with fright. Out of nowhere, Bullet had pulled a gun and shot the spider dead-on, without turning her sights from Jack.
She was swift, she was confident, and she was precise.
She was everything Neon described.
She was the Black Bullet.
“It really is you,” Jack said, almost hypnotised by her.
As if nothing ever happened, Bullet placed her gun back inside her holster, which lay conveniently hidden under her leather jacket.
“Satisfied?”
Jack nodded slowly, as if under a spell.
“Now, tell me why he had you kidnap Flare.”
Jack tilted his head forward and strained to run his fingers through his hair. The smell of the smoke from the gunshot still lingered in the air, reminding him that she really was who she claimed to be.
He looked at her, confidence filling him.
“He told me to take her to one of our safe houses and question her using whatever means necessary. I was to find out where you were.”
“But, why?” questioned Bullet impatiently.
“Because he wanted confirmation about the talk on the streets.”
“The talk on the streets? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Neither do I. That’s all he told me,” Jack confessed. “He only tells me…”
“…what you need to know. Yeah,” Bullet cut in.
She slouched back in her chair, annoyed at not having an answer.
“Is there still only eight of you,” asked Jack again, "or is there
seven?"
“What is your obsession with that question?” Bullet snapped.
“I’m glad you asked. Means I didn’t volunteer the information.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, eagerly.
“When Neon finds out I spoke to Colour Coded, I can’t tell him that I openly disclosed topics of discussions that he had with me in confidence,” Jack explained.
“Well, then, say we tortured you,” suggested Bullet.
“He won’t believe that,” Jack assured her.
“Look, what is it about how many of us there are that you’re so interested in?”
“How many of you are there? Eight or seven?”
“EIGHT! Now, tell me why you’re…”
“So, your team haven’t lost or exiled anyone since your last run-in with Neon?” Jack butted in.
Bullet growled, her teeth grinding against one another in agonising annoyance.
“Will you just tell me why you’re asking please, before you drive me up the wall and round the bend to where my gun lives!” she yelled, ushering down to her jacket, trying desperately to hold herself back from shooting him in between the eyes.
“Because Neon told everyone at his agency that there were only seven of you,” Jack stated, ignoring her outburst.
The confusion from Jack’s words oozed from Bullet freely, as she looked at him like a dumb school kid.
“There’s been eight of us for the last two years. He knows that fine well,”
“Bullet… Neon told everyone that you were dead,” Jack declared.
Confusion turned suddenly to fear, and then steadily to nervousness in Bullet.
Dead?
She tried to think of the man she once knew. She strived to enter his mind, to anticipate his next move, to understand why he would make such a bold, yet false, statement.
“I don’t understand…” she uttered, “what does he have to gain from saying I’m dead? I am not dead, and well he knows it!”
“Hey, I only just found out about two minutes ago that he’s
been lying for almost a year. Don’t ask me,” Jack replied, helpless. “But, I can tell you that he’s very convincing when he says it. Like he believes it’s true.”
Someone banged on the window.
Without another word being spoken, Bullet got up and headed outside.
As soon as the door was closed behind her, she entered another room to her right where she was greeted by Tide, Gecko, and Rocket.
“He said I was dead!” Bullet panicked.
“Calm down, Bullet,” said Rocket, placidly. “Neon will be up to one of his usual tricks. Which means he’ll fail.”
“I want to know why.”
“So do I,” Tide agreed. “It could be a hoax to confuse us to the point that, whatever he tries, we’ll never see it coming.”
“How could it be a hoax?” Rocket questioned. “Jack was torturing Flare to find out if it was true or not. I don’t think we were supposed to catch him. We need a plan.”
“Well, what do you suggest?” asked Gecko.
“How about, rather than continuing to hide from him like we’ve been doing for the past year, we send Bullet out into the open for his men to spot her and report back to him?” Rocket offered.
“Are you kidding? They’ll kill her for real, then!” Tide pointed out.
“Well, maybe not…” said Gecko, walking over to Rocket.
The three of them began to argue, while Bullet merely observed.
An older man entered the room amid the feud, with grey receding hair and small spectacles balancing skilfully on the tip of his nose. His flashy suit fit snug around his round belly.
He smiled at Bullet encouragingly. She knew what to do. He told her with his eyes.
Bullet broke through the noise.
“Guys! Guys! All fabulous suggestions. But, there’s only one clear option here…” she stated to the team. “We act as though what Neon is saying is true.”
Rocket, Tide and Gecko looked at Bullet as though she grew horns out of her head.
“But, you’re not dead, Bullet,” said Tide, “and we need Neon to know that you’re still a threat to him. You’re by far the most dangerous one when on your own than any of us are.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“The thing is, children, that if Neon is spreading rumours of the Black Bullet’s downfall, then he will have a reason. Until we know what that is, we shall keep up the pretence. Or he genuinely believes, by whatever manner of means, that she really is dead, and so, we will have the element of surprise when his next attempt to take revenge for the loss he has suffered arrives,” The Spectrum explained.
