James Swallow - Jade Dragon

“You had a plan?” sneered Rope.

“Nah,” admitted Fixx, “always been a kinda make-it-up-as-I go sorta guy.”

Rope toyed with the knife, flicking a glance at Frankie where he cowered by a console. “Perhaps there’s something to your ridiculous religion, Joshua. You might be right. Perhaps your loas did bring you here for a reason-just not the one you thought it was.” He bared teeth. “You’re here to die, Joshua Fixx, to fail. Look.” Rope pointed at the d-screens that were still functioning. The displays were fed from cameras at the Peak. He saw the audience, the weeping black skies, the stage.

“Juno!” Frankie gasped, staggering to his feet. “Oh god, no.”

The audio feed had been damaged in the firefight, and no sound was relayed; but they saw the anger ripple across the idol singer’s face, her sudden surge of rebellion. Frankie’s heart leapt as she flung away her microphone, freeing herself. “I knew you could do it!” he shouted. “Run, Juno!”

Rope rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you shout a bit louder, Francis? She might even hear you… ”

The live feed shifted as the stage went dark. For a second the cameras dithered, shifting to image-enhanced mode. In the corner of the display, the Live Feed overlay changed to Broadcast Suspended.

“Oh dear,” mocked the Josephite. “The slave has ideas above its station. Not that it matters, too little too late.”

He could not tear his eyes from the screen as Tze, resplendent in the cloak and finery of a Qin warlord, came into frame and berated the girl.

“Frankie,” said Fixx, “look away. Don’t… ”

The ghost of Tze’s blow made Frankie choke; he felt it as keenly as if it had been him that was struck. He saw the sword, and shook his head. “No, no, no, no-”

Juno looked into the camera, directly at him. He read her lips. If you ever loved me, don’t “No!” Frankie’s body went rigid with rage and shock. Juno fell away, life ebbing from her eyes, crashing to the stage.

Rope made an amused noise. “Your turn now Joshua. Take solace in knowing that your vitae will be put to good use. I’m going to paint a mural with it.” The knife fell and Fixx caught it, pushing all his strength into holding the razor tip away from his throat.

Rope licked his lips. “Don’t fight it. Believe me, this is a kindness I do for you… I’m sparing you the endless agonies of living in a world where the Dragon rules. ”

The blade pressed into Fixx’s skin; he felt his strength ebbing, and at the corner of his vision he saw movement. A flash of wet steel.

“Any last words?” said Rope, his breath hot and pungent.

“Yeah,” Fixx coughed. “Look behind you.”

“Bastard!” screamed Frankie, and sank Fixx’s sword into the Josephite’s back. The blade punctured Rope’s heart and burst from his chest.

Fixx kicked him away and fell back, forcing himself to his feet. Frankie was gasping, tears streaking his face. Black blood covered his hands and he stared down at them, shaking.

Incredibly, Rope was not dead. The ghost knife was forgotten as he fingered the blade, trying in vain to get a grip on the sword and pull it out.

Fixx hobbled to him and yanked on the hilt. “Mine, I think.” The sword came free and oily fluids spurted from the entry and exit wounds.

“Nuh…” Rope twittered, eyes misting. “No.”

“Yeah,” said the operative, and with effort Fixx gathered up the Josephite and hurled him through the broken window.

Rope fell a hundred storeys, plunging into darkness and fire.

“Tze.” The executive turned at the sound of his name to see the ragged thief crossing the statue park. He paused before the idling spidercopter. There was something different about the boy, a glint in his eye that had been absent there in the car park when he blundered in with guns blazing. A certainty, he decided. A surety of purpose.

“I’ll say this for you, lad. You’re a survivor.” Tze eyed the bloodied katana. “My servant?”

“Dead,” said Ko. “And you’ll join him soon enough.”

Tze drew his own blade. Juno’s blood still discoloured the edge. “Be wise. Take that sword and end your own life with it, while the choice is still yours. The world you know has ended tonight. The Jade Dragon is King now, and I am his keeper.” He idly ran a finger over one of the terracotta soldiers that stood nearby like a mute honour guard.

The action seemed to infuriate the teenager. “Maggot and shit-eater. You are blind and stupid. You sacrifice children to this foul creature and plot to set it lose on the world? Death a hundred times over is not reward enough.” He shivered and his voice altered for a second. “I’m gonna fuck you up, asshole. You and me got unfinished business.”

Tze frowned. The thief’s odd behaviour was vexing; but no matter. He would die as easily as the clone had, and then Tze would take his leave to the castle and await the final manifestation of the Dragon Lord.

The katana swung at him, missed. Tze made a riposte that hummed through empty air. “You’re quick,” he remarked.

“Two thousand years of practice.” snapped his opponent.

The swords crossed, polycarbonates and tempered steel biting. Tze snarled as he scored first blood, cutting a slash in the go-ganger’s jacket; but his victory was short lived as the boy wounded him on the arm.

Tze spat and attacked again, all pretence at play forgotten. This commoner had dared to spill his blood? There would be no quarter now. He released a flurry of blows, beating the thief back into the circle of terracotta effigies. Fear spread across his opponent’s face. “No cocky words now, eh?” he shouted.

“Go bugger yourself, you worthless old cashwhore.”

He slashed and caught the boy’s temple with a small nick, ripping away the dirty hachimaki headband in his hair. The youth stumbled against the sculpture of a swordsman.

“You are poor sport,” said Tze, drawing back for a killing blow. “No match for me, little boy.”

“My name,” growled the thief, “is Lau Feng, soldier of his Imperial Majesty the Emperor, ghost and undead, guardian of this life…” His voice shifted again. “I am Chen Wah Ko, brother of Nikita… And you owe me blood, motherfucker.”

“I don’t care who you are,” said Tze, and swung at his opponent’s neck.

Frankie was trembling, babbling. “Oh, god. Oh, god. Juno… She’s dead!”

Fixx gave a slow nod. “I’m sorry.” He had known it, somewhere deep inside. Fixx had understood that the girl’s fate was never to be a fair one. Juno’s life was a mayfly existence; bright, shining, fleeting.

“Tze killed her. He murdered her…”

“That’s right,” said Fixx, and he nodded at the damaged video consoles. “But it won’t mean nothin’ if nobody knows it.”

“I don’t understand. ”

“Show them, Frankie. Show the people the truth.”

After a moment, Frankie nodded and ran his hands over the panels. “The replay is in memory. The live feed is still intact. I… I can wide-band it to every screen in Hong Kong.”

“Do it,” said Fixx. “Let the city hear Juno.”

Broadcast Resumed.

The override from Tze’s command console had worms in every public communications protocol software across Hong Kong; advertisement screens, radio and vid, digital cinema, road signs and flickercladding. The Cabal’s reach extended everywhere, and Frankie used it to take revenge.

The loop of Juno Qwan’s defiance and her murder spun out over the city, played and replayed endlessly into the eyes and ears of a populace who loved her.

In the thrall of the Z3N, the gestalt needed focus, and Juno was the lynchpin; but the minds of the people at the concert and throughout the metropolis were stunned into silence as they watched Tze slit her throat again and again, in hundred-metre high, tint-corrected, high-definition ultra-colour.