“You cheated
death,” she told me one night as we laid on a blanket and ate pizza
in the dome, staring up at the silky, moonless sky. “
Twice.
You survived a tumor that doctors said would kill you,
and
won a fighting tournament that you had zero chance of winning.”
I had never
really thought of it that way. The odds of surviving one of those
events were astronomical – surviving both could be called a
‘miracle’ (if I believed in that type of superstitious
nonsense.)
“You’re
here
,” she continued. “You’re alive. Whether it’s good luck,
or beating the odds, or from a freakin’ magical spell – it doesn’t
matter. This is a fresh start, and you don’t owe anyone
anything.”
“There’s just
so much that I wish I’d done differently. So much bullshit I feel
responsible for. And with Kenneth in a coma...” I trailed off,
staring up into the void.
“He could come
out of it, you know.” Her voice was a soft, reassuring purr. “He
could wake up one morning, put on one of his stupid t-shirts and
call you up out of the blue. Stranger things have happened.”
I smiled
weakly. “You’re starting to sound like Peyton.” I didn’t recall
Brynja being this optimistic during our time together in The Arena.
She’d been assertive and forceful, more like a drill sergeant
motivating her troops. This new, bubblier version of her was
definitely not unwelcome, though. It was exactly what I needed.
We propped
ourselves up on our elbows and she leaned in close. “This is my
second chance, too,” she said. “I came back from the dead, and now
I’m with the only person on earth who’s as lucky as I am. I was a
ghost, remember? Passing right through things. And now...” She
reached out and touched my face, gently stroking my cheek with her
thumb.
“Not quite as
ghosty,” I noted.
“Maybe we
can
be,” she replied with a warm smile. “Just together this
time. No one knows we’re here, and we have everything we need. It’s
not so bad being a ghost under the right conditions.” Her hand
cupped my cheek, and our lips drew closer. “This is
our
time,” she whispered. “Let’s enjoy it.”
I stared at her
for a beat, cocking an eyebrow before saying, “Do you realize how
dirty your hands are right now?”
Brynja
grimaced, pulling her hand away from my face. She frantically wiped
her greasy fingers across her pant leg. “Ugh, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry,”
I said apologetically, shaking my head, “It’s no big deal.”
Her lips
stretched into an evil grin. “I was apologizing in advance...for
this.
” She rolled on top and pinned me down, knees pressed
firmly into my chest. Before I could push her off she grabbed a
slice of pizza and began smearing it across my face.
Brynja and I
became inseparable, and the friendship continued to grow. She was
bright and funny, and gave me a reason to wake up every morning.
Before long I’d almost forgotten about the outside world – I even
stopped watching simulcasts. The rest of the world had melted away,
along with its conflict and complications; this is where I wanted
to be, and I was happier than I’d been in a very long time.
But as the days
wore on inside the isolated fortress, not everyone was in the same
mood for bonding and togetherness.
Valentina
locked herself inside of her room, surfacing only for the
occasional snack, and to ask about her most recent paycheck. She
could verify her account online, of course – as could everyone else
on my payroll – although she insisted on a printed, signed
statement every two weeks to add to her records. Aside from reading
romance novels, bookkeeping seemed to be her only hobby. Our
conversations were limited to the bi-weekly arguments about the
bonuses she felt that she deserved for overtime pay, and they
always ended with her storming off.
Mac’s biggest
issue was boredom. I never wanted to go anywhere, so for lack of
anything to do I’d send him on errands, which were nothing more
than random trips across the globe with an assortment of items to
purchase. I would ask him to fly to Italy just so he could pick up
an authentic Roma pizza, or down to Australia so he could purchase
me a hand-carved Aboriginal boomerang in some remote region of the
Western Outback. It was meaningless busy work, but it kept him
happy and occupied.
And once every
few weeks I’d hand him a wad of cash and give him twenty-four hours
to spend it, each time with the explicit instructions that, a) he
could do whatever he wanted with the money, and b) I didn’t want to
know what he did with it. There was a method to my madness when it
came to the bonuses and vacation time I granted Mac: when he hung
around the fortress, he routinely made not-so-subtle advances
towards Brynja (‘Blue’) and Valentina (‘Red’), to which he was
summarily shot down on each attempt. Crashing and burning never
deterred him, which was both admirable and embarrassing to watch.
And although Brynja laughed off Mac’s tired routine, I feared that
if he persisted with Valentina, she would shoot him down for good –
and not in the metaphorical sense. Getting him out of the fortress
for some actual, physical contact with a woman (whether it required
payment or not) was in his best interest, both mentally and
physically.
For the most
part the staff avoided me. They resented the fact that Frost had
kept them locked away, hundreds of kilometers from civilization.
They’d been working there for the better part of a year with no
vacation time – a policy I’d kept in place without even realizing
it. I didn’t blame them for being grumpy. I asked Mac to take a
transport plane and drop them at home for the holidays, leaving the
fortress with a minimal staff: Chandler, Valentina, a maintenance
worker, a chef, and Judy, the nurse. They were all guaranteed a
generous Christmas bonus and some additional time off when the rest
of the staff returned, so everything was in order.
With a skeleton
crew came a few inconveniences. As self-sufficient as Fortress 23
was, there was always a computer system that required an upgrade,
or a mechanical device that needed a tweak. The elevator that
served as the main access point to the dome was under repair, and
wouldn’t be functioning until later that evening.
I’d wanted to
surprise Brynja with a picnic for lunch, so I gathered some
blankets and comic books, instead making my way up the spiralling
metal staircase that opened to the center of the ecosystem. After
stepping out onto the grass I heard footsteps clanging their way up
the stairs at my back. It was Chandler, who was sweatier and more
frazzled than usual.
“Mister sir,
Moxon, I mean...hold on...” He leaned forward on his knees and
breathed heavily – something Chandler was prone to doing after any
form of physical activity.
“Hey buddy,” I
said, patting him on the shoulder. “Can you make sure there are a
few Dr. Peppers in the fridge? Brynja and I are going to have lunch
up here in the dome. Maybe Marten can throw together some club
sandwiches, too. The ones with those little—”
“No!” Chandler
panted, waving me off with both hands. “You don’t understand, you
have
to see this. It’s a...you don’t know how bad the
thing...the situation is. It’s bad. Very, very bad.”
I didn’t ask
any more questions. I threw open the doors, sprinted down the stair
case and raced into the main lounge, where the primary media hub
was illuminated and glowing brightly in the dimmed room. The
holo-screen was broadcasting a live simulcast of The Fringe – my
former neighborhood – on the outskirts of New York City.
Half of it was
gone.
Partial
transcript from the CBC Evening Simulcast ‘Live from Toronto’
Hosted by George Sokratous, December 2041
Dennis Benoit, Member of Parliament (Liberal):
Arena Mode
opened a lot of eyes, for sure. I mean, we were all aware of
superhumans before the event this past summer. We knew they
existed, and that they lived among us. We didn’t know how many
there were, or what type of powers they possessed, but for the most
part we felt comfortable because they weren’t a problem.
George
Sokratous:
They were just like us, more or less. Except
they dressed better.
Benoit,
MP:
You think...is it the spandex, maybe? Is that what you’re
referring to?
Sokratous:
it was a joke. Sarcasm.
Benoit,
MP:
Ah, I see. Right.
Sokratous:
But seriously, they were blending in pretty
seamlessly for the better part of a decade, up until now.
Benoit,
MP:
Right, right. I mean, the
potential
was always there
for superhumans to pose a threat, although no more than any other
threat.
Like any
weapon; a handgun, for instance: it can be used to protect your
home from an intruder, or, in the wrong hands, an unstable
individual can use it to go on a shooting spree.
Sokratous:
Are you calling superhumans ‘weapons’? That
seems to be an analogy that a lot of politicians and pundits have
been floating around since we saw their potential during Arena
Mode.
Benoit,
MP:
No, no, no – not exactly.
I mean,
yes
, some of these people
do
have massive destructive
power. We all saw Sergei Taktarov fight Dwayne Lewis during Arena
Mode, and they took down half of Manhattan in the process. That was
a controlled event in the context of a sport, and Cameron Frost’s
estate paid for the cost of the damage, but still – it was an eye
opener. And now this...
Sokratous:
The event in New York.
Benoit,
MP:
Some people are calling this an isolated incident. And of
course, it could be. No one is taking responsibility for this
explosion, and no terrorist groups are being linked to the
attack.
Sokratous:
Although you’re not so sure.
Benoit,
MP:
It definitely seems like this is related to Matthew Moxon
in some way. This could be Red Army, although I’m not going to
speculate.
Sokratous:
So in the wake of the tragic event in New
York, which took over four thousand lives that we know of, what is
the response here in Canada going to be?
Benoit,
MP:
The same as in America, the United Kingdom, Australia,
Brazil, and every other country that has a reported superhuman
population. We will likely be enacting the Emergencies Act. It’s
not a popular decision, but it’s the only think that is going to
keep the Canadian people safe.
Sokratous:
So this is martial law?
Benoit,
MP:
No, no, no – we aren’t going to be trampling the Charter of
Rights and Freedoms. But this measure
is
being reviewed by
Parliament as we speak, and we’ll see if it’s the right course of
action.
Sokratous:
That’s what they said down south about the
Patriot Act. “We won’t be trampling anyone’s freedoms.” Now I can’t
get on a flight to Orlando without a rectal exam.
Benoit,
MP:
They gave you a...are you serious? Right there in the
airport?
Sokratous:
No. Again, that was sarcasm.
Benoit,
MP:
Ah. I see. Very amusing.
Sokratous:
This
does
beg the question, though:
how is Canada going to succeed in keeping its population safe from
superhuman attacks, while at the same time ensuring that the
government remains transparent, and doesn’t overstep its
bounds?
Benoit,
MP:
I don’t really know where the boundaries are anymore, to be
honest. After New York, the destructive power of these superhumans
has exceeded everything that we predicted. Our worst-case scenarios
just got significantly worse.
It was the
event that the government had warned us about for nearly a
decade
: a catastrophic superhuman attack in a densely populated
area.
Homeland
Security had, of course, prepared for this type of eventuality,
taking precautions for a threat that didn’t yet exist – at least in
the wealthier areas of the country. Cerebral Dampening Units were
the government’s most powerful weapon to combat an enemy that they
didn’t fully understand. The basketball-sized metal spheres could
disrupt the brainwaves of a superhuman within a one mile radius,
temporarily nullifying their powers. You’d see them mounted atop
buildings and stoplights, giving off their invisible, inaudible
signal day and night. They were designed to make us feel safer
while walking the streets, though up until that day few really
feared a superhuman attack.
The CDU’s were
ubiquitous in the nicer parts of The Fringe, and there were several
in the vicinity of the attack. They didn’t make any difference.
Unfortunately, a few well-placed shotgun blasts were enough to
render them useless, which was exactly what happened. With the
cerebral dampeners disabled, real horror was about to begin.
The video
footage was chilling. After a group of masked terrorists cleared
the area and destroyed the CDU’s, a man emerged from an unmarked
white van. He stepped into the street, tore off his shirt and began
to glow. His bizarre and terrifying transformation took only
seconds. Pale skin turned to cinder, cracking and peeling, while a
copper glow pulsed from beneath the surface. The whites of his eyes
burst with lava and his skeleton became visible through flashes of
blinding light.
The final sound
before the blast wave was a guttural scream – that’s when half of
The Fringe was annihilated.
At first it
looked as if the man had exploded like a biological bomb, with his
accomplices standing idly by, making no attempt to escape the blast
radius. The satellite weather cams told a much different story.
There were no flames, or smoke, or pieces of flying mortar – it all
happened in reverse. From a distance it looked like an
im
plosion rather than an
ex
plosion, as if everything
had been sucked into a gaping black hole. Like water down an
invisible drain, matter ceased to exist at the core – pulling
inwards from every direction, caught in the undertow of a swirling
amber maelstrom.