One: Blood

Blood
Rebel souls… Deserters we are called… Chose a gun… And threw away the sun...

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The sudden barking of dogs draws your attention to the alleyway just outside. The heavy thread of running feet can be heard before the package even hits the inside doorstep of your ‘office.’ The metallic clang of knocked over trash cans in the distance; the final impotent barks and then silence.

The package is thin; no bigger than a small book, but immaculately punk. A brilliantly yellow cardboard envelope, with red splashes of color now sits by the front door. Emblazoned, loud and proud, are the words:

Don’t Forget
To Like
And Subscribe

Satisfied that the thing won’t kill you, at least not immediately, you turn it over and yank across the tear strip. Some of the packaging falls to the floor, littering your feet with strips of old recycled newspaper.

Before long, a single piece of card is in your hand. You discard the brilliant yellow envelope and turn the thing over. No bigger than a playing card, one side is emblazoned with some instantly recognizable imagery.



The other side consists of a black on white QR code, with a solitary red ‘M’ beneath it.
M

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For those of you from this century, it all clicks together. The manicured punk aesthetic… it’s Michelle; Dark City’s latest social media darling. Some say she’s the real deal, while others are convinced she’s controlled opposition. Whatever the case, even you’ve heard mention of her.

Brydon Barringer
A spring in your step, but a beating in your chest, you leave the apartment; checking and double checking that you’ve locked it up good and tight behind you.

You wind down the stairs and leave by the graffitied front door that never seems to close right. There’s a knack to it, the old timer that lives three floors up, tells you. If there is, you’ve never gotten the hang of it.

Lucky for you, all you need to do is cross the street to the bus stop. You paying a premium for that kind of service?…

Five minutes late, which is about ten minutes early, the night-bus rolls up; looking more like a military vehicle than public transport. You throw your change into the tray, and the bus driver grunts through the near-half inch of steel between you and him.

You sit, and cross as much of the city as Bus 39 allow. 30 minutes later, you ring the chime, and the bus driver begrudgingly pulls the thing over and lets you off. It’s a couple of blocks to the Noose, and you’ll have to hoof it. An ambulance blares a few streets over, sending the nearby dogs into a tizzy.

Eager to get where you’re going, you set off down the street. Empty, for the most part. Most people seem to have more sense than you. Still… only a block or two away from the Noose, you cross the opening to an alleyway. It’s not your eye that catches something odd, but your ear.

Sobbing…

Quiet, low but then with bursts of sudden ferocity, before quickly quelling again into a thin, miserable whimper.

"M… M… Mommmmyyy…" comes a pathetic whine from further into the alleyway.

Lucielle, Xavier and Galaine the Resolute
You spill out into the alleyway, and climb inside Galaine’s van parked a short distance away. The smell is something else. For Galaine, it’s one of the last vestiges of his time, of his home, but for the rest of you it’s a heady mix of things you can’t quite place.

You hit the lights, though it takes you a minute or two to talk through the pros and cons of doing so. The spilled trash cans are there then, blinking at you in the sudden light.

You pull out into the almost abandoned streets. The van’s a real fixer-upper, and sounds it’s protest at being moved for those first few streets. Figures on the sidewalks slip into alleyways as you pass, wary of being seen out after dark.

You wind your way through city streets. It’s not a straight shot… not by any means. Police blockades, overturned cars blocking streets, and an off about this way or that all make your route longer than it needs to be.

Only a few blocks from the Noose, proximity makes you hasty, and you turn into lane. It’s the work of mere seconds, but suddenly your front windshield erupts into harsh bright lights. You can’t help but put your hands up to give yourself some reprieve from the blindness. Behind you, a jeep pulls in to block your escape. You make out two armed men sitting in the back.

"CHECKPOINT!" a voice comes projected from the light.

"Step out of the vehicle! NOW!"

One of the many militias that run through these streets at night, or a small time gang trying to carve out a few blocks for themselves. Who knows…

Xavier, Lucielle and Galaine
"This one’s got a smart mouth!" one of the men up ahead calls back to someone as yet unseen.

"Yeah, yeah. I hear ‘im." a gravely voice comes back, and heavy footsteps start to approach the car. Whoever it is, they shine a flashlight right into your eyes to disorient you as they approach.

"Paraplegic, is it? Well listen… this is Shepherd territory. So paraplegic or not, you better find a way to step on out so we can take a look at you!"

The flashlight drops, and you see a face now. A rough face, with a huge handlebar mustache. On his vest, you see a patch:


"You needin’ a couple of my boys to carry you out… on account of your legs and all? Happy to oblige!"