Take Back The City - Part One of the 'Life in London Town' series

5 - A Shadow in the Smoke

  I struggled onwards, guided only by the faint, grayscale image of the winding streets ahead and motivated by nothing more than the necessity to avoid lead-derived oblivion. I had to reach Centre Point to have any hope of safety, but I was beginning to lose my sense of direction. I had no idea where I was heading.  I was lost, stuck in Soho with nowhere to run to for safety and no hero to save me. The various sections of my brain seemed to be having heated arguments with each other, yelling back and forth; ‘She’s going to die’; ‘No, she won’t’; ‘Of course she will! Have you seen the size of the lads chasing her?’ I tried to tell them to shut up, but not one part of my brain would listen. I shouldn’t have to remind them that we’re in this together.

   I heard the air split once more; a bullet, yet another bloody bullet, skimmed through the air and passed my ear.   My senses resumed their duties. My head had stopped debating with itself and began to actually do its job, furiously computing ways to help me attempt to evade the four pursuers left.  At least I thought there were still four pursuers left. According to my eyes, which, as it seemed, had only just been reconnected to my brain, there was only one gigantic half-human thundering towards me. Seven had fallen. Eight had contracted to one. It seemed impossible. Just fifteen minutes ago, I was a prisoner, condemned, trapped in a situation from which escape was nigh on impossible. Now, though, I had the upper hand. The kinks and corners of the Soho streets had given me an advantage over the lumbering monster behind me; he couldn’t handle the corners nearly as quickly as I could. In fact, as I passed a giant plug-point hanging over a cobble-stone alleyway, I lost the last of my pursuers completely. Eight had fallen. Eight had contracted to zero, and I was the last woman standing.

  Golden eyes poked around the corner. Bugger. Zero had become one once again; fine, it was a preferable situation for me to find myself in than the one I found myself in upon leaving Piccadilly Circus, but having one massive, evil, emotionless dehumanised monster chasing after me was one too many, thank you very much.  I had to run, but I couldn’t; fatigued muscles were plaguing my every movement. The one remaining Faceless was gaining, menacingly stamping his boots into the ground, making every last cobble shake. I began to walk backwards, treading slowly, treading carefully, making sure to face my opponent with narrowed eyes at all times. The austere golden shimmer emitted from his eyes seemed to light up the entire street. The last Faceless standing, the last of the eight that had found me above the battleground at the Circus, had  a particularly nondescript, featureless, barren face, even by their standards, marked by no facial expression, no emotion, only those penetrating, soul-destroying golden eyes. The figure facing me, the last Faceless standing, now held the advantage; he had a reloaded weapon to fire at will whereas I had absolutely nothing left with which to return the fire. I couldn’t run and I couldn’t fight.

    He stepped forward. I stepped back. An evil smirk began to decorate his face, pushing his ashen cheeks aside. I stepped back again. As he stepped forward again, I flicked my head around, desperately trying to get my bearings. I was lost; I had no idea where I’d been, no idea where I was at that moment, and no bloody idea how to get to Centre Point – though getting to Centre Point was the last thing on my mind considering there was no guarantee I was getting out of this situation yet. A nervous flick of the head told me nothing; I found myself on a cobbled street fringed by small houses and shops, colour slowly fading from their facades as it had been fading from my cheeks for the past half-hour – it was like most streets in the West End. Great, I thought. I had to find myself on the most archetypal, stereotypical street in all of London. Fat load of good that does me.

 It wasn’t a complete waste of time, however. A quick glance behind me told me that the end of the street was in sight, a T junction at a slight angle. ‘At last, Nox,’ I thought. ‘A chance to escape.' Unfortunately, within the few short seconds that followed, I was to find out that my optimism had been misplaced.