Benjamin Wray: Acid Reign: Genesis

“Commander, Dr. Glastow.”

“Thank you Corporal. You are dismissed.”

“Sir.”

Santez bowed, expecting more from Yeong, but nothing came.

After Santez left, Yeong looked at William for a long moment, then walked over. He put his hand behind William’s back and led him to the window.

“Look down there. All of those people, the last people on this planet, have one inherent gift. Do you know what that gift is?”

William remained silent.

Yeong patted him on the back.

“Self-destruction. Doctor Glastow. Deeply seeded in the very makeup of each of us, is our ability to destroy. I have been very patient, but I am not a fool.”

William remained silent, and Yeong seemed to accept his silence.

“You assured me results months ago. I have given you all of the resources you required, which came at great cost. Some of which were not just monetary. I will not be toyed with and neither will the Council.”

Yeong turned to face William and pulled his pistol from his holster. He held it by his side and tapped his leg with the barrel. William froze, barely breathing, as Yeong put the gun to his head.

“Please explain to me why it is not functional yet,” Yeong asked, calmly.

“There is control, but the coding is meeting unknown resistance. It’s as if the DNA is fighting to preserve its last bit of governance. I just…need a little more time.”

William was surprised at his ability to manage complete sentences.

Yeong pushed the gun harder against William’s head. After a moment, he holstered it and turned back to the window.

“There is no more time. The council wants results now. You have two days Dr. Glastow, for your family’s sake.”

Yeong dismissed him with a wave.

William hadn’t noticed the footsteps in the hall, and bumped into a Nucrean Elite at the door. The soldier pinned him against the wall as Yeong’s oldest son, Kurth, and a handful of other Nucrean Elites pushed by. The two soldiers in the back dragged a hooded, injured man, leaving a trail of bright red blood behind them. As they passed, the soldier released his hold, but made it obvious that William needed to keep going.

“Have a nice day, sir,” Sim said, encouraging William to get lost.

William slowly walked away. As he reached the door at the end of the hall, he heard what had to be the man’s body hitting the metal tiled floor.

“All the weapons have been accounted for,” Kurth said as he moved to stand over Bale. “And, this is the traitor that let them into the armory.”

William heard Yeong talking, but could not make any of it out. After a moment of silence, a gunshot boomed down through the hall, and as if the gunshot opened a door in his mind, he remembered who the man was. He collapsed against the wall, feeling the excruciating, mental pain of absolute helplessness.

The dragon tattoo!

William’s heart sank. The man who had promised to protect his family, and ensured him that he would be rescued from this place, was now lying on the ground with a hole in his head. William’s wife and daughter would certainly be killed if he did not give Yeong what he wanted. He knew the right thing to do would be to sacrifice himself and his family for what was left of the human race, but the walls were right; he was a coward.

Twenty miles northeast of Nucrea, an old derelict strip mall looked out onto the wasteland. Behind the mall, shanties, made from every kind of scrap material, attached themselves to collapsed and rundown buildings like barnacles on an old ocean liner.

In Freetown, the Theonium levels were minimal. It might take thirty years for the affects to set in or it could take five, but to those who lived there, the risks were worth the freedom. Runners, fugitives, and anyone who would rather brave the dangers of the Fringe than live their lives in captivity, came here to make a new home. This dirty and lawless community was Freetown.

It might have been lawless in an ethical sense, but Tooth had the final say in matters.

He burst through the crooked door of his shanty and threw an old radio as hard as he could into a wall, shattering it.

He turned to go back inside but stopped as he noticed something moving. On the rusted horizon, three Fringers headed right towards him.

With a devilish grin, he disappeared into his shanty. A moment later the door burst open, this time spewing out a determined, now shirtless Tooth, wielding an enormous machete. His skin was tan, and covered in scars, his muscles tense.

He walked quickly to meet the Fringers who had started to run towards him. He gracefully dodged grabs and countered with swings of the blade. The sunlight from the setting sun, shimmered on his machete as it flew through the air, dismembering its victims.

The fight was over as soon as it began. Tooth was covered in blood, but was unharmed. He studied his victims, watching for any signs of life. Happy with the results, he began to wipe the gore from the machete on his pants.

He paused as an engine sound echoed across the tundra. He looked up as a dust cloud rose against the dark sky. A truck, rusted and badly welded raced towards him.

Tooth rested the machete across his shoulders, blood dripping down his back, and held a hand up to the truck. Tooth turned, watching as it sped past Freetown and headed for Nucrea.

The air in the East Market reeked of sweat, sewage, and the unholy aroma of rotting meats. It was nothing like the dignified Central Market, where every item was new, and strict laws about selling weapons, food, and tech governed every transaction.

Here you could buy or sell pretty much anything. This was Nun’s territory. Over the last thirty years, his runners have risked their lives, scavenging materials, machinery and technology that had kept Nucrea alive and functioning. Because of this, the Council had ignored the way he had handled his business, which was unethical to say the least. Soldiers patrolled and handled civil disputes, but knew not to interfere with anything else.

Near the end of the market, there was a group of boys gathered around Puck. There was no mistaking that Puck was Tooth’s son. He was taller than the other boys, and had the same lean, but strong posture, sunken eyes, and sinewy frame as his infamous father.

“Bet you spent every credit on that,” Wince said as he admired Puck’s new Pigeon.

Puck smiled to himself. “Almost all of it. It was worth it though. If you gonna’ be a Runner, you need good tech. Already got a ranking boost from Nun for the contract.”

“It’s so beautiful,” Tom whispered as he stared at the screen.

The three boys all looked at Tom with sideways glances.

“You’re a weirdo, Tom,” Wince said, hitting him in the shoulder.

Tom was the smallest of the group. His soft face and even softer frame made him an easy target for their bullying, but he was used to it, and didn’t seem to mind. He just wanted to fit in.

Wince’s younger brother Jens drooled over the Pigeon while Puck scrolled through the Runner’s feed. Then, as if Jens was too young to experience what it was like to have a Pigeon, Puck shut the signal down, and reverently covered the Pigeon with his sleeve. All four boys paused and shared in the satisfaction of Puck’s adventure.

In Nucrea, everyone had responsibilities designated to their families. If your father was a builder or fixer, you apprenticed with him and that is what you did. If your mother was a baker, a weaver, or a grower, then that is what you learned to do.

If you didn’t want to be stuck with your parent’s occupation, you only had three options. Some kids wanted to be soldiers in the Nucrean Guard, and if they were skilled enough, they could become a part of the small privileged group of Elites. There were only a few openings each year, which seemed to go to the same social classes, but every once in a while someone from the other classes was given a chance.