Travis Brett - Legacy

A one-armed beggar sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, staring blankly at pedestrians passing him by. He didn’t look hopeful for charity, nor did he receive it. Roman wondered how the city’s mass of beggars survived at all. Most likely they turned to burglary once night rolled around — which was, after all, a far more persuasive form of charity.

Tan strode up beside Roman. “Reckon I could barter a leg of ham from one of these fine merchants, in exchange for some of the meat we brought?”

Roman glanced at the sackcloth bag slung across Tan’s shoulders. The fabric did little to hide the shape of the body inside. “I think most merchants wouldn’t hesitate to sell him off as beef.”

“Wouldn’t call him premium stock though. He was a stringy bastard, after all. The meat will be tough as Ruby, but a lot less pretty.”

From Roman’s other side, Ruby saluted Tan with her middle finger. “And how much do you think I would get for your corpse?”

“A small fortune, love. I’ve always been told that my body is very desirable.”

The crowds moved sluggishly. In Legacy, there was rarely a need to get anywhere quickly. At this time, nearly everybody was heading out of the city for their jobs – to the grain fields or the livestock yards at the edge of the city limits, on the north and eastern side. Others would be heading for the cotton factories, or the steelworks, to the west. Although nearly all labourer jobs were just outside Legacy, the majority of people lived in the city centre, choosing the long commute rather than risk sleeping in the outskirts.

Roman moved against the flow of people. Besides Tan and Ruby, only one person shared his direction: a woman, five yards ahead, recognizable as a staff of the four Ministries not just by her route but also the quality of her clothes — beret, clean shirt, and denim trousers that weren’t ripped.

The other pedestrians gave them a wide berth, eyes averted. There was little wonder why. The revolver hanging from Roman’s hip; the bow slung across Ruby’s back; the body bag across Tan’s shoulders. The only thing that would have made them more intimidating would be if they had brought Sparks with them. Nothing scared people more an Adrenalite.

Ahead, four colossal towers rose into the sky.

The four Ministries.

As Roman strode into Reformation Square, he craned his head to see the tips of the towers far above. These were the only skyscrapers in Legacy kept in decent repair — each tower was supported by a framework of steel beams, holding them upright as their foundations slowly decayed beneath them. Each stood on one of the intersections four corners. To Roman’s left, the Ministry of Agriculture. On his right, the Ministry of Materials.

Behind those, the Ministries of Science and Security.

At least four dozen militia patrolled the square. They wore black jackets, bulky from the armour pads within. The militia guarding the entrance of the street watched Roman’s gang suspiciously, keeping their crossbows raised threateningly — even among the militia there were not enough working guns for everyone.

Roman moved towards the Security Ministry, ignoring the guard’s distrustful glares. Even after three years, it still felt like he was walking in the wrong direction. His eyes lingered over the Ministry of Sciences. Nineteenth floor. Department of Historical Collection. Had it really only been three years since he had worked there? Lost for days inside the books of the Ancients. Studying. Documenting. Trying to relearn all that had been lost. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Two militia, stationed on either side of the Security Ministry’s glass doors, watched Roman approach. It took Roman a moment to remember their names. Elrose held a crossbow — not pointed at Roman, but not far off. Regan had an axe hanging from his belt.

“Mornin’ gents,” Tan said as they approached.

Elrose sneered. “Unless your man is having a quiet sleep in that bag, I’d say the Captain won’t be happy with you folks.” He had the kind of nasal, whiny voice that Roman couldn’t help but despise.

“That’ll be a change,” Roman said sarcastically. “Maybe she’d like to reprimand us in person this time? We’ll be nice, I promise. We’ll even invite her to join us on our next job.”

“She don’t need to waste her time. We’re her presence in Legacy.” Elrose thumped his chest proudly.

“Oh really?” Tan said. “Does her presence ever leave these doors? Her reach seems a little short. Almost like it was, shall we say, afraid of any real danger?”

Regan’s pudgy face reddened. “We’re the guardians of this city, we protect—”

“Maybe, just this once,” Roman cut in, “leave the boasting to those who actually captured this city’s latest vermin. And who would that be, Tan?”

“That would be us, Boss.”

“And what would that make us?”

“Bloody heroes, I reckon.”

Elrose scowled. “Makes sense vermin would be good at chasing vermin. Now you know the drill: hand your weapons over.”

Roman sighed. “What do you possibly—”

“No exceptions. We make the laws around here.”

“Oh, did you write the decrees personally?” Roman asked as he reluctantly handed his pistol over. Ruby surrendered her bow and Tan gave up the two knives strapped to his waist. “You do look like a man who knows his letters, I’m sure you know all six vowels?”

“Of course,” Elrose said.

Ruby tried to muffle her laughter behind her hand, but she didn’t bother trying very hard.

The Ministry had always tolerated bounty hunters. They held little threat since any hunter rarely lived long enough to collect their pay. But Roman defied the odds, and now his team caught more rogue Adrenalites than the militia themselves. The militia didn’t take kindly to competition.

As Tan strode past the two militia, he stumbled, briefly losing hold of Burrstone’s corpse. He quickly righted himself, but not before the dead man’s legs very firmly bumped into Regan’s shoulder.

Regan stumbled backwards. “What the fuck are you—”

“Sorry mate, my mistake.” Tan dashed through the Ministry’s doors. The smile in his voice told Roman that the fall had been anything but an accident.

Regan turned to charge after Tan, but Roman grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. “Tan’s part of my team,” he said. “That means that if you lay a hand on him, I would take it very, very personally. Understand?”

Regan stepped away, snarling. Roman followed Tan into the Ministry.

The foyer of the Security Ministry was a shrine to bureaucratic inefficiency. Men scurried between rows of desks, carrying stacks of binders; a queue of workers waited for an elevator; a secretary sat behind a reception desk, stuck in a perpetual state of reshuffling papers. Roman wanted to smack the self-important look off each of their faces. They work here in their safe little tower, while monsters roam the streets outside. The ministry didn’t make the citizens feel safe. The ministry made itself safe.

He pushed his way to the reception desk. The mess of workers parted at the sight of the body bag over Tan’s shoulder. These cowards were even scared of a dead Adrenalite.

The receptionist was a gaunt man with a chin so pointed it looked sharp enough to be dangerous. He didn’t bother to look up at them.

Roman loudly knocked on the desk. “I’ve got an appointment with the Captain.”

“I wasn’t aware that—”

“She requested to see me.” Roman knew that lies told with enough confidence – and a threatening tone – were often more effective than the truth.

“And your name was?” The receptionist finally looked up. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.