A sharp expulsion of air. Highly concentrated force, the small bomb blew the woman’s brains through the top of her skull, decorating the wall behind her with a slimy red and fleshy mess.
Several bucks snapped through Marcie’s body before she bent over double, pulled her mask away from her face, and vomited on the bare concrete.
Chapter 7
The camera gone, driven through the top of the woman’s skull, and the fact the building had been shielded to block transmissions gave Marcie the confidence to completely remove her anonymity mask before the others. One final heave bucked through her while she held the transparent faceplate, but she had nothing left. Her vomit mixed with the woman’s blood, adding an acidic tang to the already curdled air. The Monk unlocked the steel door, ushering in a gust of cold wind, while Wrench opened another door close to her, revealing stairs. Marcie took the opportunity, the first one to follow him away from the torture room.
Larger than the dungeon, the top room hosted a wide circular table surrounded by seven chairs. A closed eye had been carved into the centre of the dark brown surface and then varnished over. Like the ground floor, this room also had just one light hanging from the ceiling, although it had been fitted with a much brighter bulb.
All of her dad’s crew took their seats, removed their anonymity masks, and placed them on the table in front of where they sat. Marcie knew everyone there. Sal’s dad, Frankie Fingers, who stood about five feet eight inches and stretched almost as wide, glared at her.
Shank, her knives now reloaded and strapped to her forearms. The short woman would fight a tank and win.
Pierre—pronounced with a French accent on his insistence—the Credit. Other than Wrench, he stood the tallest at over six feet four inches. Slicked, side-parted hair and a moustache, the man always wore a suit. Skin so pale, the many neon bulbs in the blind spot would burn him if he stood too close to them.
The Monk, a bald man nearly as tall as Pierre, his skin tones at the opposite end of the spectrum. He had wide shoulders, a fierce scowl, and never spoke. Ever.
And finally, Jean Rodrigo. Crushed by a large concrete block from a falling development in the city where she used to work for a top firm, the Blind Spot had brought her in and helped her walk again. Cyborg from the waist down, she had the sharpest business brain in the Blind Spot. She also had kindness in abundance. An open woman, she’d always treated Marcie with warmth. Even more so since her mother died.
When her dad banged his fist against the table, Marcie jumped and the others stared at her.
“Marcie’s sixteen now,” Wrench said. “So I’ve decided she can join the top table. I need to show her what life in the Blind Spot’s like. The Blind Spot hasn’t been the same for her since her mum died. If she hates it as much as she thinks she will, I’m going to let her move to the city when all’s said and done.”
“Oh no,” Jean said, clapping her hand to her mouth as if she had no control over her reaction. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just”—she turned to Marcie—“the city?”
“I’m sorry, Wrench, but you want us to speak freely around this table?” Frankie Fingers waited for Wrench’s nod. “I think it’s madness. She’s the same age as Sal. No way would I let him see what we have to do to keep everyone safe and liberated. It’s a dirty business that no young eyes should have to witness. Unless she has a filter on them that protects her from trauma?”
Wrench sighed. “If only.”
Sal and Marcie talked frequently enough for him to relay everything his dad told him. The boy already knew a lot about what went on.
“Not that he …” Marcie’s dad stopped there. No doubt they all completed the sentence in their head. From the way Frankie glared at him, he certainly did. The silent scowl dared Wrench to finish, to say a cripple couldn’t move to the city even if he’d wanted to—and he did want to. Marcie would prove them both wrong. Only one boss in the room, but even Wrench had lines he shouldn’t cross. “Sorry.” He dropped his attention to the table, his red mechanical eye adjusting to the darkness. “Look, whether you like it or not, Marcie’s here.” He looked from one of his team to the next. “I need her to be here, and it’s not open for discussion. I don’t often assert my authority, but I’m doing it now.”
The tension in the room spread to Marcie, tightening her shoulders. Her nausea returned.
Wrench then said, “Whatever this terrorist bullshit is, someone wants to take us down. I’m guessing the woman we just dealt with was on the payroll of whoever’s responsible for the attack in Wellbeing Square. I’m not sure exactly what they’re trying to prove, but I’m guessing the end result is to start a war between us and the city.”
“Can we trace the woman?” Pierre the Credit asked. He spoke with a thick cockney growl.
A tight purse of his lips, Wrench shook his head. “It won’t do any good. Even if we do find out who she is, and we do a stake-out, I can’t imagine the person who’s dealt with her will reveal themselves anytime soon. And they’d be insane to leave a digital trail. Also, none of us—nor anyone with any visible cybernetics, for that matter—can go out in the city; anonymity masks will bring even more attention to us. The second they recognise us, we’ll be thrown in jail and held as a bargaining tool. We’ll dump her body in the city later. Maybe that will send a warning to whoever put the device in her. Hopefully that’ll be enough to get them to back the fuck off.”
“Do you think it was the government?” Shank scowled like she’d fight anyone who wanted it.
“I’m not sure. They certainly need to persuade the people of the city that a war with us is worthwhile. We have the power to turn every resident as good as obsolete, so they’ll have to produce some pretty damning evidence to get the public brave enough to take that risk.”
“So, what?” Jean asked. “You think we’ll get more of them coming in?”
“Maybe. There’s been a terrorist attack, and the people of the city want to blame someone. I know the government are desperate to get control of the Blind Spot, they always have been, and this is the perfect opportunity. If they can get a camera in, they can generate some propaganda to justify a war. But we all know they won’t get any recording devices in, and I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. However, if we don’t get to the bottom of this quickly, then we’ve got chaos coming our way. We need to make sure everyone is super vigilant while we manage this. No slip-ups.”
All the faces around the room remained stoic, save for Frankie, who continued to glare at Marcie. His thick jaw tight, he fixed her with unblinking eyes. She had no place here.
The chair beside Marcie scraped across the floor and Jean smiled. Beautiful and radiant. Were she not half machine, she’d be completely out of place at this table. She put her arm around Marcie’s shoulders before glaring back at Frankie. Finally, he looked away.
The next few weeks were going to be long, but at least Marcie had someone in her corner.
Chapter 8
At least Nick had one person on his side. Whatever else happened, Bruce always had his back, always had and always would. And after the morning he’d had with Karla, he needed it. The leather seat squeaked and groaned beneath his squirming body. From having gotten dressed standing up, he’d tightened his belt too tight. After loosening it a notch, he found Bruce smiling at him. “What?”
Hover cars above and below them, Bruce’s vehicle followed the path laid down by the traffic mainframe. “Remember that time we got drunk at school?”
Nick smiled too. “In the loft space of the year eights’ toilet?”
“They must have known we went up there. So many of us did it.” Bruce laughed. “I think their priority was tuition fees. Anything else, like delivering a good education, was a bonus. As long as you kept your head down, you got away with murder in that place.”
The smell of leather around him, Nick returned to that dusty loft space. “Wasn’t that the time—?”
“I dropped a jar of piss on Paul’s head?”
“It
was, wasn’t it?”
A scowl darkened Bruce’s features. “Self-righteous prick. He always walked around as if he were holier than thou. As if his word were God’s. And you know what kids are like. They worship that kind of confidence.”
A confidence Nick certainly never had.
“That was around the time he was bullying you, right?” Bruce said.
No matter how Nick rationalised it in his adult mind, and no matter how much time had passed, a pang of anxiety twisted through him. “Yeah.”
Bruce nudged Nick with his elbow and flashed him his businessman’s smile. Even as a kid he had a disarming grin. He leaned closer, his aftershave stronger than usual. “It stopped soon after we covered him in piss though, eh?”
Nick had always been able to rely on Bruce. Always. They passed the Apollo Tower on their left, and Nick leaned forward to see all the way to the top.
“How’s Karla?” Bruce said.
“I love her so much. She’s my world. I don’t know what I’d do without her. It amazes me just how beautiful she is and that I get to see her every morning. I’m such a lucky man.” The lifts would find their way to her. Maybe she needed to hear them today. To remember what he gave her. Still leaning forward, he said, “I’d love to work on the top floor of that tower.”
Bruce’s seat creaked as he angled himself to look. “I heard the director of Wellbeing Inc. has his office up there. Although, it’s all very hush-hush. A man as powerful as that needs to keep his location secret. Oh, the irony!”
The no-fly zone above Wellbeing Square gave Nick a clear sight of where the booth had been. “It’s like the terror attack never happened.”
“Too right! We can’t let them beat us.”
Easy for Bruce to say. He hadn’t been flung through the air by the explosion. Nick removed his phone from his pocket and his heart lifted. One new lift. He pressed play.
Adam’s voice came through the tinny speaker. “Nick’s such a great boss. I can’t wait to see him today. Even with everything that’s happened, I’m sure he’ll still be in top form like always.”
As Adam trailed off, Nick smiled. “He’s such a great lad. The funniest man I’ve ever met. Without question.”
Although Bruce raised an eyebrow, he didn’t get any closer to challenging Nick’s assertion. Adam played for laughs. Bruce had often referred to him as a try-hard.
“The man deserves the top floor of the Apollo Tower,” Nick said. “Where would we be without Wellbeing Inc.? I know the niceties aren’t always one hundred percent genuine, but my day’s always better for the lifts. Sending and receiving them.”
“Fake it ’til you make it,” Bruce said.
“Huh?”
“Even if you don’t mean what you say—”
“I do!”
“Even if not all the people mean what they say, the act of saying them at least gives them some form of emotional elevation.”
“Huh?”
Bruce shook his head.
Their route took them around the other side of Wellbeing Square, the Blind Spot in the distance. A large anonymity dome covered it. The same tech used in the masks, it scrambled the air, creating a cover of impenetrable pixellation. To see the place, you had to enter it. The entrance looked just like any other street, if maybe a little wider. It also had neon lights flooding out into the city, a multitude of garish signs advertising a multitude of sins. A guard stood on either side of the entrance. Both were cybernetically enhanced freaks who’d been built to tear heads from torsos when they ran out of other options. They checked every person going in. If you took surveillance into the Blind Spot, you didn’t come back out again. Everyone knew that.
“I hate this stupid stalemate we have with the Blind Spot,” Bruce said. “They have too much power over us. But we’ve got to fight back against terrorism, right? If we don’t, where will it end?”
“Not everyone shares your healthy suspicion of the place,” Nick said. Several people from the city gathered around the entranceway, all of them in anonymity masks. “Karla was talking about a war this morning too. She thinks we’ll recover from having all our data wiped.”
Bruce nodded. “I agree. But they won’t recover from us rolling right over them.”
“That’s what Karla said.”
Bruce sneered. “We should wipe out every single person in there. Or force them out into the wastelands at the very least. Bloody cyborgs, they’re no better than rats. Let them try their luck in the wilds with the militia.”
“The city will certainly be safer with them gone.” More people in anonymity masks walked into the place. Nick nodded in their direction. “Look at what it’s doing to good hardworking families. It’s turning their loved ones into johns and slack-jaws. What on earth tempts them to go down there? And don’t get me started on the Pandora hack. What possesses people?”
“Someone I worked with took the hack.”
“They did?”
Bruce nodded.
“Why haven’t you told me before?”
“They were still alive, so I suppose I didn’t think about it.”
“Were?”
“They killed themselves recently. Turns out they couldn’t cope with hearing what people really thought about them. I tell ya”—Bruce shook his head—“it would take a stronger mind than mine to be able to handle that level of criticism.”
“I know, right?” An involuntary action, Nick refreshed his Wellbeing app. His heart sank a little when he saw nothing.
Now they’d circled around Wellbeing Square, the car dropped several metres as they came into land. Nick gripped the leather armrests.
“You need to relax,” Bruce said. “Get back on the horse. Besides, I’d imagine Wellbeing Square is the safest spot in the entire city at the moment. They’ve ramped up security to the point where it’s impossible for the Blind Spot to strike again.”
Before Nick could reply, Bruce said, “Shit!”
“What?” Nick’s pulse raced. “What is it?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s nothing about the square. I’ve left my laptop at home. I’m such a muppet. I’m going to have to go back for it. You okay if I drop you here?”
No. He needed Bruce this morning more than ever. “Sure.”
Bruce patted him on the back. “Thanks, mate. You still up for cricket tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
As Bruce pulled up at the side of the square, Nick unclipped his belt. When he stepped from the car into the cold winter morning, he saw Bruce’s laptop on the back seat. “Uh, Bruce.”
“What’s up?”
Bruce’s blue eyes roved. He clearly couldn’t make eye contact. Nick frowned. He must have a good reason and he’d tell him when the time was right. Another glance at the laptop, he shook his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
A click from the side of his mouth, Bruce made a gun with his fingers and pretended to shoot Nick. “See you tomorrow, champ.”
Nick watched his friend drive off until he’d gone from sight. Why had he lied to him?
Chapter 9
Frankie Fingers marched through the streets of the Blind Spot, Marcie part-walking, part-jogging to match his pace.
“Keep up, girl,” Frankie called over his shoulder. “I still think this is an awful idea. What use is a sixteen-year-old girl in this place? You’re a kid, and you’re bound to get in the way. You’re going to be the death of me.”
What did he know about her? She could handle herself. But he didn’t want to hear that.
“And another thing, if you say anything to my boy about what you see, I’ll make sure your dad finds out you can’t be trusted. Bad enough you fill his head with that nonsense about living in the city.”
“Hang on, Frankie, the reason I know so much about the Blind Spot is because of what you tell Sal. Don’t you dare put that on me.”
Frankie spun on her, his already wide frame swelling as his cybernetic enhancements expanded. “Wind your fuck
ing neck in, girl.” He panted as he loomed over her before taking a step back, his breathing levelling out. “Anyway, what do you expect? I need to come home with stories for him. It’s not like Sal can find out for himself. In case you hadn’t noticed, my boy can’t do much with his medical needs. That includes moving to Scala City. Also, know this, I’ve taken people’s fingers who’ve spoken to me like you just did. You might be the boss man’s daughter, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get nipped for stepping out of line. Learn some damn respect.”
Respect went both ways. They walked off again down the tight streets, alleyways she’d never seen because her dad kept her locked away. And when she went out at night, she dared not explore the place. Nor did she care to, not with Scala City waiting for her and Sal. Like with the anonymity masks, the anonymity dome over the Blind Spot prevented anyone from seeing in, but like a two-way mirror, Marcie could see out. The skyscrapers of Scala City, the skylanes filled with hover cars—it wouldn’t be long before she called that place home.
The cybernetics in Frankie’s legs gave him a pendulous sway. The man looked and moved like an anthropomorphic tank. Most of the shops they passed traded in stimulation of one sort or another. Drugs and prostitution, hackers and engineers were dotted among them, many of Scala’s citizens getting hidden enhancements they professed to abhor.
Like most slack-jaws, and many Blind Spot residents, Marcie wore an anonymity mask at Frankie’s request. He didn’t want the kind of attention that came with escorting Marcie Hugo somewhere. If he stopped trying to put a leash on her, she’d show him she didn’t need escorting. But what did it matter? She’d get to understand the place like her dad had asked of her, and then she’d move to Scala City anyway.
Unlike Marcie, Frankie didn’t hide his face. A man of notoriety, if even a fraction of the stories about him were true, you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of him. Wrench had zero tolerance for bullshit, whereas Frankie’s tolerance sat in the negative numbers.
The Blind Spot Page 5
