BRIGHT LIGHTS RIMMED her eyelids. Eva tilted her head up, away from the light, but it kept on shining burning into her irises. Quiet voices murmured in the background, speaking indistinctly to themselves. A spike of pain jolted through her skull as the sound drummed on the inside of her brain. She gritted her teeth, biting her cheeks. Pounding and vibrating in her head. She tried to move but her arms refused to budge, pinned down by something much stronger than her.
". . . she's coming around," a woman said.
"Already?" a man said.
Her eyelids fluttered partway open. Two blurry white figures stood in front of her.
"Heart rate rising."
"Increase the dosage—."
"No! He wants her awake . . ."
"Then what would you have me do?" he asked.
"Leave her."
Blood thundered in her ears. One word drilled into her head.
PARIAH.
Her eyes snapped open. Four metallic walls bounced light back at her. The tails of two lab coats swished behind a door that bolted shut at the right second. She was alone. She sucked in a breath through her mouth and spat the metallic taste of blood onto the floor. Handcuffs secured her wrists to the arms of the chair, which too was bolted to the floor as was the table in front of her, but the handcuffs had some leeway – a foot or so of chain.
Someone had bandaged her hand, one last civil liberty she guessed. Wires draped against her head—EEG cables reading brainwave activity, she knew that much science—led to a computer screen beside her. Like a rat in a lab. In the corners of the room a camera sat, each with its own blinking red light. Active, watching, and recording.
Where the hell am I?
It clicked in her head. All the memories slotting together from last night like some rancid hangover.
You destroyed a building.
So this was the screening for her shipment to the Badlands, off to exile to live with all the other Pariahs. The only door to the room clicked and opened. A police officer stepped in and looked at her.
"You have a visitor," he said.
Someone shuffled and a man stepped in sporting an expensive suit with an upmarket phone poking out of his pocket. She didn't think twice about trying to run, she could see security all down the corridors. She shuffled upright and winced, a sharp pain darted up her neck.
The man muttered something in the police officer's ear and a few seconds later he shut the door behind him. A twinge of recognition stirred within her and she stared at the back of his head. He turned and she recognised him straight away. His face was plastered on every government building in the country and on every street poster. Her father's boss.
Oh crap.
She needed to get out of here. Fast.
"Miss Saunders," he said, holding a small china cup of tea. "I'm glad you're awake."
"Take off the cuffs," she said.
"I apologise for the measures they took with you." He smiled. "You know how scientists are, they get carried away."
Her eyes darted to the prepared syringes on the tray in the corner of the room. She glowered.
"I wouldn't call that science."
"Pariahs have the tendency within the first seventy-two hours to metamorphose between...powers."
"If you're going to exile me then do it already."
"Not until we talk."
She ignored him as she stood, the chain on the handcuffs giving her some leverage. Lying Litchfield, everyone on the streets liked to call him, only her father had forbidden her from calling him that in the house. Rumour had it he was the worst Prime Minister since the Wall had been built. She was surprised there wasn't a government lapdog or Reaper shadowing him.
He nodded at her, "You look like your father," he said.
"You're—."
"Mr. Litchfield, Prime Minister, yes, and—."
"Where am I?" she asked, cutting to the chase.
He smiled. There was some strain behind it. "Sit," he said.
It was a command, not a request. She sat back down gingerly, trying not to rattle the chain on the handcuffs too much. She snuck a look at her wrist, noticing the large black V still there. She tried to summon some of her energy but she couldn't feel its presence.
"I'm in a crisis situation, Miss Saunders. My hand is being forced by a power I don't like to get my hands dirty with," he said, exposing the large black H tattooed onto his wrist. "Two weeks ago, a research facility here in London was broken into, nothing went missing, but then last night the man running that research was murdered."
"Doctor Hillary?"
"The very same."
"So what has this got to do with me?"
"Out of a building of three hundred or so people, you were the only one left alive. Care to explain?" he asked, he leant back and squinted at her. She hesitated, the rule of the streets she'd grown up with was always say nothing and stay alive.
"I don't know what you're talking about,"
He sighed. "Let's not play games, Miss Saunders. Your father wouldn't appreciate it."
"He's not here right now," she said. "He doesn't even know about this."
His eyes narrowed, "Not yet, but he could be facing prison time for harbouring a Pariah."
Eva lunged up. A part of her wanted to throttle him. Like a savage.
"He didn't even know," she whispered, her knuckles white, "nor did my mum."
"Perhaps that's better for both of us, and their careers, of course."
"You're threatening them?"
"Not necessarily."
He cut her off as she tried to argue and instead clapped his hands together and motioned towards the camera. The door unlocked a second time. The aura of the room shifted and rushed towards the open door where a man stepped in, carrying a chair with him. A thin, almost invisible purple haze evaporated from the man's body and connected with the purple glow of her fingertips. Except this aura, despite its weakness, reeked of power that crushed hers instantly.
Instinctively she shrunk back into the chair. She'd never felt power like this in this great a volume, even at the Reforms held once a month. Not one of the Pariahs put on trial and display had ever been as strong as this aura right here, right now.
The man turned and smirked at her, a cigarette packet stuffed into his jacket pocket making a bulge on his shirt. It was the police officer who tasered her last night. "Morning, kid," he said, dropping the chair at the end of the table.
"You!" she cried.
"I'm glad to see you two have already met," the Prime Minister said, stirring his tea.
The man dropped his hat on the table and sat down heavily in his chair. "You could say that," he said.
"You shot me!" she hissed.
He ignored her scorching glare. "I tasered you, there's a difference."
"You had no right!"
Eva had never wanted to swear at someone so much in her life. He had no right doing what he did, never mind sitting there beside her in the room with the very man who'd help ship thousands of people to the Badlands. The man raised an eyebrow and looked to the Prime Minister to exchange a look.
"This is the girl?" the man asked.
"The last resort—."
"I'm sorry, and you are?" she cut across the Prime Minister and glared at the man.
"Drop the sugar-coat, kid. It's flattering but it ain't gonna fool anyone. Name's Detective Thomas Kingsley of the London Metropolitan Police. You and I...we're going to get along just fine."
"Like a house on fire."
"So tell me, kid. Our darling Prime Minister here has invited—well me, not you—to this little meeting, and if I ain't wrong I'm gonna guess it's something to do with the Badlands." He pulled out a small pill bottle, no bigger than her thumb, and shook a few pills into his mouth. "So why don't you start off by telling me everything you know about the Badlands, or, officially, Zone-B."
"Seriously?"
"I wouldn't be asking otherwise."
"You people are missing something: no-one talks about it."
"We are. To see what you know."
Her eyes met with his. Everything about his eyes told her not to fall for it, not to trust him, but she couldn't stop staring at the flecks of purple around his irises. A part of her over analysed his stare. She couldn't believe he truly wanted to know. Anyone knew the stories, the police the most of all, that once you were tested positive you waved your family goodbye and you were gone.
"What's there to talk about?" She slumped back into the chair. "You get exiled, some live, but most don't make it—."
Kingsley took over. "You're wrong there, kid. What if there's an order beyond the Wall? Something even the streets ain't even met yet."
"Like what?"
He crushed a pill between his teeth. "Viva la rebellion."
"You mean an uprising?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Oui."
She gritted her teeth together, playing language games with him wasn't going to help her out. She needed to escape this madness sooner rather than later.
"And this has everything to do with the murders?"
"The official term is a terrorist attack," the Prime Minister murmured.
"I don't care what the official term is."
The Prime Minister cleared his throat and leant forwards, he exchanged a look with Kingsley who nodded approvingly. "Miss Saunders...how would you feel about going over it?" he asked.
Eva glanced to Kingsley for a hint of what he was going on about. "Over what, exactly?"
"The Wall."
Her blood ran cold.
"Excuse me?"
"These murders won't stay confined to London. They'll spread like wildfire. I need to send two people I can trust over the Wall in time so that I know what's going on. The daughter of a politician and a detective from the London Met. It couldn't be much better. These murders can't go unnoticed, Miss Saunders. I trust you can understand that. I have a lot of people breathing down my neck to get this case solved. As I understand it, you were the only survivor. Meaning you saw the murderers—"
"Yes but—."
"—so you can identify them. Detective Kingsley here has already volunteered, and well...you were the next candidate," he said.
"I'm not a rozzer."
"But if you agree I can promise you'll get immunity if you do your job," he said. "I have the power to let you live in this city, Miss Saunders, Pariah or not."
"Define adjustments."
The Prime Minister's eyes narrowed, "You have to agree first."
"Are you agreeing or not, kid? Because whoever's next on these psychos' hit list ain't gotta lot of time." Kingsley twirled his hat on his fingertip, exposing the edges of a black tattoo on his wrist. "These people don't have to die if you help us, Evangeline," he said.
Eva squirmed on her chair. This was turning into some spiralling nightmare. Her stomach contorted and twisted and threatened to spew whatever contents were left in her stomach since last night. She felt rotten down to the core for even considering, voluntarily too, going over the Wall after she'd planned her escape route to Europe using the docks. Especially after so many people had tried to escape it. The air in the room quickly became too thin and her head became too light. Small black dots filled her vision. If she left, and went over the Wall, she'd never come back.
But she'd be immune. Free to walk among the few cities left to live however she pleased. A part of her couldn't be responsible for the murders from rouge Pariahs—it wasn't her duty. If every person with the potential to be a Pariah was registered from birth then the murderers were bound to be written on the system somewhere.
"Kid?" Kingsley shook her arm. "Hey, don't freak out on me."
"Yes," she whispered.
"What?"
"I'll go."
The Prime Minister reached forwards and handed Kingsley the red envelope. He looked at Eva sympathetically as he loosened his tie. "Miss Saunders, I hope you know that whoever killed that man will come looking for you next. To wipe the slate clean, so to speak."
She swallowed and nodded. "I know."
"Now—."
"Tell me about my immunity," she cut across him, "I want it written in a legal document."
"Later." He took a deep breath. "In order to protect this investigation you two are only to report to me. No one else can know about this. It's bad enough that they happened on the soil on this side of the Wall." The Prime Minister rose from his chair. "Find them, before this gets worse."
"Yes sir." Kingsley shot up and shook his hand, sending Eva a glare when she didn't budge.
Eva waited until the Prime Minister left the room before she breathed out a curse. Her hands felt numb and every time she tried to summon the power inside of her it wasn't there to use. Kingsley unlocked her handcuffs and set the envelope down on the table.
"Why can't I feel it?" she asked looking up at him.
"Your power? Because the medics here gave you a dose of a sedative to keep you out. It can block the use of a power for a little while," he said, cutting open the envelope. She stroked the bold V on her wrist as she rubbed away the soreness of the handcuffs.
"Is that why they didn't change my tattoo?"
"Did you want them to? Officially, you're still a Void."
"And officially what are you?"
He covered up his and sent her a dark look. "That doesn't matter. What does matter is that we find whoever killed those people." He scanned the contents of the envelope for a second or two before he snorted. "You're under witness protection, kid. The PM's orders."
"For how long?"
"However long it takes to find these people," he said, "means we're stuck together."
He dragged his hand through his greying hair before he reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. He struggled with the lighter for a few seconds as she watched him.
"You smoke too?" She raised an eyebrow. "And take drugs?"
"For the record, kid, it's prescription."
"Is there anything you don't take?"
"Alcohol? Gave that up after one too many nights heaving into a bush."
"You're disgusting."
"You asked."
She rolled her eyes, already buzzing to get out of this room and away from him. The Prime Minister was mad if he thought that they'd be an effective team. This was nothing how her future was supposed to be – even her mother knew it after her father had joined parliament. Escape. That was her grand plan. Get out of the newly imprisoned Britain and join one of the gangs in Europe or America. Organisations that were dedicated to exploiting Pariahs for profits – profits that she'd heard would come back to her.
Kingsley succeeded in lighting his cigarette, dropping ash onto the thigh of his navy pin-striped suit, and scanned the letter from the envelope. He blew out a cloud of smoke onto the paper.
"So, kid, how are we going to play this out?" he asked. "You can't go home."
"I can survive by myself," she said.
"Is that what they told you? How cute."
"That's what I know. They had the chance to kill me and they didn't take it, so I'm pretty sure I'm not their intended target. Whatever was in that briefcase was. Do you agree?"
He sucked the end of his cigarette for a moment or two. "So that makes you the special one, huh?"
"I never said that."
"Well you damn sure showed it. Besides—" he stood up and placed his hat firmly on his head. "—you're under witness protection, kid. PM's orders. So suck it up 'cause in five minutes a car will take us to the station where you can say goodbye to your family before we get to work."
"Aren't you going to make me tell you everything I know about last night?" she asked, standing too.
"No, tell me, no...show me, that's a different matter." He stepped over to the door and opened it for her. "I know a great person with a talent for exposing memories."
"Fine," she said, zipping up her hoodie and following him.
"Fine? Just like that? I was expecting more of a bite from you."
"But before we do this I want to say goodbye to my family first, at my home, not at the station."
"As you wish." He nodded.
"And another thing, too. When all this is over and we catch these guys, I get to choose which side of the Wall I live on."
"Fine."
She stopped in the doorway, too stubborn to move. She refused to go any further if it turned into a one-way trip. She still had the time to escape to the docklands to get aboard the ship, she'd even drained her bank account to pay for the ticket. The authorities couldn't catch her if she slipped into the crowd and avoided the borders, it was only the Reapers she had to avoid.
"I want your word," she said.
Kingsley stalled in the corridor and looked back at her, his cigarette faltered before his lips.
"I promise, Evangeline. Now let's go."