Altura Lane stood isolated on the Eastern Side of the Vents, the closest pocket of humanity being the Caliente Bazaar. Malcolm had tracked it down using a mix of his Digital Interface, as well as asking the reluctantly responsive locals for their knowledge. They always seemed to be able to tell that Malcolm wasn’t from the Vents, despite his rustic look. Every time he’d even try to talk he would receive sideways glances, and fearful glares like he’d just shoved a pistol in their face. The Vents always seemed to have a disdain for the rest of the enclave, seemingly just out of pure spite for those who were allowed to be released from this place in which they were forced to inhabit.
The seemingly nocturnal residents roamed the streets as Malcolm aimed for house number 308. One woman in particular was wearing a hooded cloak that shrouded her entire body in shadow. The older lady walked hunched, and had a slight limp on her right leg. Malcolm fought off the urge to switch to the other side of the road, worried she potentially had a weapon to hand.
He would later wish he had. As they crossed paths, for a split second, the woman looked up at him, her hood falling from her face for only a moment, and only enough to uncover a sliver of her mouth. But that was all that was needed for Malcolm to see what he wished he hadn’t. A smile. Why it haunted him in the moment he couldn’t decide, but in years to come he would still remember it, look back on it, and realise what it truly had meant. The hood flickered down as quickly as it had risen, and Malcolm wondered if that flash of teeth was really what he had seen, or if it was a trick of the light, a rouge metallic reflection, or a rough patch of fabric. It seemed too odd to be true.
308 was not what he expected, although he wasn’t sure why. The entire row, 400-300, were all identical two story tall apartments, styled cubically and modernly, like a brutalist god had erected an entire row of headstones, perfectly aligned. As Malcolm walked by each house, he assumed there would be a difference signifying its importance. But yet the only difference was the number: 308, rather than the 309 next to it.
All that really changes, he thought. Is what’s inside. Malcolm stood outside the fence, looking for a button to open the electronically managed gate.
A red light lit above the key pad, in the centre of a clear, darkened dome. The light looked around like an eye, twitching and whirring as it scanned Malcolm. All of a sudden the eye stopped moving, shining its light directly into Malcolm's vision, blinding him. He turned away sharply. He reminisced at the first time he picked up the message, the way it instantly scanned him and identified his name, age, and address. Malcolm had never trusted facial recognition and it was for this reason exactly. He was always careful where he left his bioprint, not using it for his DI, not using it for his house, or even for work. Yet somehow they knew him.
The red light vanished.
A computer ticked almost silently as the entire gate interface seemed to shut down, with all the side lights turning dark. After a second, the lights returned to full and the gate slowly creaked open.
The entrance was drawing him in, inviting him, yet it still seemed strange. Is this the right place? Malcolm thought, glancing around, the building in front of him seeming far too ordinary. Wouldn’t catch Cloud Nine scum dead in someplace like this. Not unless they were using it as a cover. Malcolm slowly breached the entrance to the gate, finally stepping on to the property. The building was only a few metres away from the side of the road, the door almost in Malcolm’s reach the moment that the gate was opened. He took the crucial few steps to get himself within hand reach of the sleek metallic door, the open button hovering just inches away from his finger. What if it’s a trap, he suddenly thought. A detonator connected to a hidden fuse. Or an alarm placing a mark on me. His finger hovered over the button. He reached into his pocket and placed his hand over his pistol. At least he was prepared.
The button was pressed and the door slid open. The room was dark. Not a single light was turned on in the building, besides a small red one flashing towards the back of the room. The outside aesthetics were preserved on the inside as well, the sharp edges and corners consistently present throughout. Deserted. But the electrics are still working. Malcolm thought, thinking back to the gate. Not deserted, but hidden. He reached down and began gripping his pistol tighter, slowly taking it out of his coat pocket.
The moment the flash of the metal revealed itself to its surroundings, the room lit up, blinding Malcolm.
“Weapon detected,” chirped the house from an unseen speaker. His eyes slowly adjusted to the sudden change in light, and Malcolm realised that it was a spotlight on him, rather than the room being entirely lit. A machine which had appeared from a hatch in the ceiling was pointed at him, the light covering him in a cone, and a laser focused on his chest.
“Target identified.”
As soon as Malcolm heard the unmistakable click of a weapon cocking, he dived behind a short countertop, the machine trailing rounds just behind his diving form.
“Line of sight lost,” the machine chirped.
Malcolm’s breathing was stilted and he was too tense to move. What the hell is this place? He thought.
From the other side of the small desk, footsteps were descending down the staircase towards the back of the house, and Malcolm was certain that it was more than one pair.
“House, deactivate defences,” a distinctly foreign voice barraged from the other side of the countertop. Malcolm stayed frozen behind it. The turret’s motors whirred, and it clicked into place as it inset itself into the ceiling, going perfectly flush.
“Mr Chambers, weaponry is not permitted in this household.”
Malcolm slowly stood up from behind the counter, his eyes fixated on the ceiling, as well as scouting for other potential defence mechanisms.
The large man laughed, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“Why are you so scared, am I looking scary to you?”
He came over and approached Malcolm, careful to step over the cracked tiles from the prior engagement. He moved with surprising agility considering his muscular build. He reached out his hand in offer of greeting.
“Welcome to my house. You call me Gridlock.”
. . .
The room felt cold and damp, the tiles beneath Malcolm’s feet just slightly moist. It was clear to him that no one lived here. They both sat in the living room, opposite each other, with Gridlock’s ‘protection’ standing a few metres behind. Every inch of the furniture was grey, cold and barren. Malcolm could not feel less welcome.
“I want to be clear,” Gridlock began. “We are not friends, we are accomplices. And you…” He aimed at Malcolm with a stubby finger. “…Work for me.” He emphatically pointed at his chest. “Not friends. Not partners. Accomplices.”
“What exactly are we accomplices in?” Malcolm maintained eye contact well.
“Whatever the fuck I tell you we are,” Gridlock said, without missing a beat. “You play an important role in this operation, Mr Chambers.” Gridlock chewed on something as he spoke, and Malcolm could smell the earthy tones even from his distance. “The police know my face, they know my men’s face, and if I were to be seen…” He raised hand above his head, mimicking a missile's whistle as he brought it down and signed a small explosion with his hand. “No good.”
“Now with you.” He looked at Malcolm and his face spread into a grin. “You have no history, no past crimes. You are nobody. Do you understand how easy it is to do whatever you want when you’re nobody?”
Malcolm stared at him, his eyes carving a path straight to his skull.
“I’m not nobody,” he finally said, quietly.
“To them you are nobody. To the Eclipse you are nobody, to the E3C you are nobody. To them you are just a code. 7 letters. No face, no history. A blank slate.” He got up from his chair, and walked over to a cabinet of drinks. Malcolm stayed firmly planted. His eyes were intensely tracking the back of his frame as he walked.
“A blank slate with an opportunity”
Gridlock returned with a bottle of spirit, a brand of which Malcolm had never seen, nor heard of before. He began pouring it into two glasses, spilling some over in the process. He picked up one and signalled Malcolm to pick up the other.
“To opportunity,” Gridlock said, raising his glass.
Malcolm didn’t even flinch
“I don’t drink.”
“You’ll learn to.”
Gridlock takes a swig of the shot and slams it down on the table, the glass completely empty.
“Your first job is soon, so I think you should get ready,” Gridlock said.
“What are you talking about, first job?”
“What is the confusion?”
“I don’t recall exactly agreeing to any of this. Associates, no?
Gridlock chuckled, looking up at his two members of security who were also smiling.
“If you remember I said we weren’t friends, we’re associates. And you. You work for me. No room for negotiation.”
Gridlock leaned in towards Malcolm, beckoning him closer.
“I’m going to give you some advice. Cloud Nine knows your name, your face, your exact address, and the fact that your wife is living there. If you disobey me, Malakai and Lucien…”
He pointed at the two men behind him.
“…will come and find you both, and as instructed by Cloud Nine protocol, will bring me back your left eye. Is that understood?
“Doesn’t sound like we’re associates at all to me.,” Malcolm said.
“Trust me, it could get a whole lot worse.” He stands up from the chair, indicating the meeting is over. “You should begin moving quickly, as in twenty minutes this house will be on fire. No records will ever be kept that we’ve seen each other and you will not speak of this.” Gridlock grabbed Malcolm’s hand to shake it, not caring if he wanted to return it or not. He leaned in closer to his face, now speaking into his ear.
“Just remember, my boss is a very careful man. If you run, we will find you. That is not a threat, it’s a guarantee.”
The man moved away from Malcolm, signalling to his men to follow. Malcolm just stood in stunned silence as he waited for them to leave
Several minutes later, Malcolm was sat only around thirty metres away from the house, sitting on the bank of some steps, watching the building he had just been handed his death sentence in.
Malcolm had known three criminals since the Eclipse takeover. None escaped, and none were alive. Trigger Finger Jimmy, he recalled. The legend who shot down an E3C helicopter over Kateshi Avenue. Malcolm chuckled to himself. What a dumbass. I still remember hearing the explosion from my house, and seeing the swarms of police come in an instant.
His smile quickly faded from his face, as he remembered what happened to him. Whatever this man had in store for me, I can’t imagine getting out of it.
Jimmy was executed on the sixth of March the year before, and no public were allowed at the event.
Just in front of him, a bang sounded, and Malcolm was snapped out of his trance. As promised 308 was on fire, the flames just beginning to reach the outside of the house. An alarm inside was beeping, although it was quiet compared to the noise of the city behind him. Malcolm stood up. The Fire Department would arrive shortly and he wouldn’t want to be connected to this in any way. Even though he had been ordered to do it by Gridlock, Malcolm also knew that it was best just to keep this between them, at least for now. Even Selene, he thought regretfully. He cast his eyes downwards. She always hated secrets. That was her one rule: complete honesty. We knew it didn’t matter what we had done, we could always tell each other and it would be fine. Malcolm shook his head at himself. Not this time. It’s for her. You can’t let your conscience get ahead of her safety.
Malcolm quickly walked down Altura Lane, pacing quicker and quicker as the street numbers grew smaller and smaller, each successive one getting further from 308. Two small fire engines sped past him, alarms blaring. 4 minutes 14. He thought. Response times are getting better. He frowned. The Eclipse don’t have any reason to keep us around, I don’t see why they’d even try.
In the bottom pocket of Malcolm's right trouser he suddenly felt a buzz. The transmission device. Gridlock had said that they would contact him but he didn’t think it would be this soon. Malcolm removed the device from his pocket, and the words, ‘TEST TRANSMISSION’, were transmitted directly through his DI, and played in his mental voice. Malcolm’s heart sank a little when he realised this meant they still had contact with him.
He would soon realise that this was only the first test of many.