Chapter 3

Without any hesitation a bag was thrown over my head, snapping away any sort of light. I was hauled – bodily, mind you – onto my feet. I tried to squirm out of the vice-like grips holding onto my arms, but it was like fighting against a Berserker. In the breaks of my shouts of complaint, a few voices slithered underneath the thick hood, some were concerned, somewhere entertained, but none of them sounded like any voices I knew.

After an eternity of seemingly working through a labyrinth, going up and downstairs, around corners and hearing multiple doors shut and open, I was forced onto a chair.

The bag was yanked off my head, my eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness of glowing orange light. The girl with braids sat opposite me, a coffee table separated the two crimson couches we sat on. Her legs were crossed over each other, her cloak draped over a large chair near the windows in front of a sleek white table. A chessboard sat on the coffee table, several pieces were missing, and several of them were in different places – including a bishop who balance precariously on the edge of the board.

"Do you play chess?" she asked, noticing where my eyes were locked.

"Not really. Someone once tried to teach me, but I don't really get it." I shrugged. I acted like everything was fine, but I couldn't stop fidgeting. The room was absurdly cold for a place in the Gray. The towering bookshelves behind her made her seem…big. Pressing, like she was saying she knew me. But that's impossible, nobody knew me. They knew the Stray, but not Dan Fallow.

She nodded and snapped her fingers. The two thugs standing behind me left the room, gently shutting the large wooden doors. The packed bookshelves and the soft lighting locked us away in the room's own dimension like the world didn't exist outside beyond those gold-accented doors.

"Drink?" She sauntered over to the desk, tapping it a few times. A compartment hissed open, rising up from the table. Several bottles and glasses wrapped around it, a cool vapour seeped from its cove, prickling goosebumps onto my arm.

"I don't drink."

Her lips twitched at their edge -- amusement trying to break onto her face. Did she think I was some sort of joke? She sat down opposite me again, legs crossed, frosted glass carrying a brown-black liquid. The metallic cuffs seemed to get tighter as she stared at me, rising my heartbeat, now thumping against my ribcage. My too obvious smell of sweat and blood seemed out of place compared to the freshness she carried with her.

And we sat like that, in silence. She examined me, barely taking a sip of her liquor.

I cleared my throat. "So …"

"Prisoner 57-31. Offence: manslaughter. Date of offence: November 5th 3117 -- exactly four years ago. Age of sentencing: thirteen. Name of victim: Joseph Fallow. Prisoner name: Daniel Adams Fallow." She took a slow sip of the liquid, her eyes pinned on mine like a wolf looking at its prey. Fine black eyebrows as sharp as her words.

The sweat pouring down my back turned to ice, carving its way down my spine. My heart climbed up my throat. "I-I don't know what you're talking about." Crud! How? Nobody knew me!

"Don't play dumb with me, Daniel. I know who you are and what you are." Another sip, another intense glare.

"I'm not a murderer," I retaliated. Blood raged in my ears, muffling the faint sounds coming from outside.

She shrugged, strong shoulders rolling. Chocolate skin cold underneath the orange lighting. "I didn't say you were, Daniel. I'm simply repeating what your prisoner report states."

"That means-"

"That means I know what you want," she muttered, her head cocking to one side. "Your mother. You want to see her."

My heart stumbled, missing one too many beats. "I …"

"Mmm." She looked at the liquid in the glass. "This is amazing. Moon treated liquor. Are you sure you don't want some? Extremely costly. A liter costs five thousand credits, absurd really, but understandable."

"What do you want from me?" I mumbled. I felt clammy, my t-shirt sticking onto my back, the air too thin -- not getting into my lungs.

"Oh, me? I don't want many things, Daniel." She leaned forward - elbows on her knees. "I only want two things in this world. One: to take over the Gray, so that damn council isn't in my way anymore. And two: you, Daniel. I want you."

"Why do you want me?" The sentence barely stumbled out of my dry mouth.

"Because you're the Stray. And the Stray knows things, well, according to the myths and whispers on the ground." She leaned back, smiling now. "Not only that, but you know where the Unit is. And I need it."

The Unit. I hadn't heard that since I was locked up in Young Haven. The scar at the base of my neck tingled.

"I don't know what that is," I tried, my voice faltering.

"'I don't know this' and 'I don't know that'." She placed the glass on the table, the heavy thud bouncing off the red walls. "Tell me the TRUTH, Daniel. I don't have time to play games."

"I'll admit it, I'm the Stray. But trust me, I've walked over this entire country, and I haven't heard-"

"BULLSHIT!" She slammed her palm onto the table – the glass jumped and fell over. The liquor ran down the table. She took a deep breath and leaned back, running a finger through her hair, pushing it out of her face. "Excuse my outburst. I've been stressed recently."

I was rigid as I watched her simmer down, picking up the glass and clearing the liquor. I knew where the Unit was, I knew where it was made, but I wasn't going to get wrapped up in whatever was boiling in the Gray. I have my own issues to deal with, and killing people wasn't on my to-do list. And besides, it may be rude to make assumptions about people, but giving something like the Unit to a maniac…yeah I don't think so.

She poured herself another glass and elegantly floated back onto the couch, her white metallic fingernails tapped against the wooden armrest. "Tell me, Daniel, what's your dream?"

"I told you, I don't know … Did you just ask me what my dream was?"

She smiled, an attempt to cover up her outburst. "Yes. Your dream in life. Your main goal."

"I guess … to find my mum." I shrugged sheepishly. "Not much, but we made a promise to each other."

"No, no. A dream isn't devalued because of its size. A rather strong motivator I presume?" Another long sip, another longing stare.

"You could say that." I've been travelling for years, trying to find her, so more than just a motivator.

"My dream, Daniel, is to ensure freedom. That's what the Rogues stand for. Freedom. And I want to make sure I'm the one who opens the eyes of the people in the Gray." She spread her arms and said, "Do you know who God is, Daniel?"

"Yeah … I don't really believe in him, but my mum used to read me stories."

She pulled a silver necklace from beneath her t-shirt collar, a gold cross hung from its end. "You see, I believe that I was sent here by God himself. As a sort of judge, jury and executioner. An archangel put into a nineteen year olds body, here to make sure God's world is pure, free and unchallenged."

"An angel who drinks liquor?" I asked. She seemed to be giving off a presence like she was forcing me down a route I wouldn't have a way out of. A trapped animal hunted down by something it couldn't even dream to beat.

"An angel who drinks liquor," she said, lifting up the glass. The orange light caught the liquid and made it glimmer. "But the Gatekeepers stand in my way. They want law and order. Nearly amusing – they, of all people, want to lock people away using their own system? To put down their laws? In a world the All Mighty made? Pathetic. Who gave them the right? They want to bring law and order back into a world that they destroyed with those same laws and those same cries for peace." She stood up and strode towards me. She smelt like the wild. Rosebushes and wild fruit, caressed by raging rainstorms.

"I'm pretty sure that the Gray needs some sort of order," my voice faltered as she sat down next to me. She ran a cold, dutiful fingernail down the scar on my right eye and cheek.

"You don't get it yet," she whispered into my ear, cool breath sending a chill down my back. "I stand for freedom. They do not. They are the enemy. They are the ones who I hate the most in this world."

"I-I thought angels didn't hate."

She leaned her head on my shoulder. My heartbeat shook my body. I wasn't sure if she was drunk or playing some sort of game to get me to talk, but it was making me nervous. The nails she had run down my cheek had left a faint burning pain, and she had barely touched me. She was showing me something. She was showing me that if she wanted me gone, she could easily do it herself. A cat playing with a mouse.

"Angels bare hate for the devil. They are the devil in this world," she muttered, lips brushing against my neck. "If you help me take over the Gray, then there won't be any more evil. The brainwashed people in the Gray think they're free but they aren't. They walk around the streets, buying and selling, falling in love and fighting. In reality they're being watched. Their every single move recorded and stored away. Just like our ancestors who were observed and recorded by those primitive gadgets of theirs."

"There aren't any cameras allowed in the Gray," I muttered, my stomach flipping as she took another longing sip. Condensation ran down my neck as she rested the glass on my collar bone, making me shiver.

"You don't need cameras to watch someone. You can use people," she suggested. She stood up and walked towards the large window, lifting a hand for me to follow.

These windows showed off everything. The entire Rogue Territory. To put it simply, it was controlled chaos. Kids used hoverboards to snake in between grownups. Teenagers huddled in groups, laughing and talking, passing around colourful cylinders. Even the buildings seemed to have a good time, with brilliant paint schemes and architecture that made the rest of the Gray in the distance look bland, depressed and bleached of life.

"These people hate the Gatekeepers for different reasons." She waved at a couple who had noticed her. "Freedom is a cornerstone of my society. You hate and you love for your own reasons. Simply put, I won't force my ideals on you."

"What's your reason?" I took a step back from the window, the sun began dipping below skyscrapers and peeking through multi-coloured windows, spreading a rainbow over the Rogue Territory.

"My reason?" She placed down the glass and cupped my face with cold hands and frosty nails. She ran them through my hair, feeling, probing. "They are the reason this world fell in the first place. Old people with old ways of thinking. After the war took everything from everyone; dignity, love, hate, all of it gone in an instance, many thought there was nothing left."

She stepped closer. She was taller than me by a head. Stronger as well. A power, deep and only slightly hidden, rested at the edge of those razor-sharp white nails, now dangerously close to my eyes. "I saw a clean slate. A foundation where I could create a society I didn't have to be … where anyone had to go through what the old generation put us through. A new world done right. And you are going to help me, Daniel." She pulled me closer and whispered, "Where. Is. The. Unit."

A full circle, back to the point. The wild animal with its back against a wall, its front faced a wolf – facing death.

"You said you value freedom, right?" I stepped back, breaking her gaze into my eyes.

"I did," she mused, picking up the glass again, emptying half of it in one long swing.

"So let me go." I was reaching out for threads. The mountain climber falling from a cliff, clawing at rocks and branches. But anything was better than this. The Gray was full of idealists, and sure the Rogues had grown ever since I'd last been in the Gray, but this was crazy. If she was in charge of the entire thing then…

She smirked, putting down the empty glass. A normal person would have been beyond themselves right now. Downing two glasses of Moon treated liquor as if it were water was a sure-fire way to send yourself to a different dimension. But there she stood in front of me, black braids long and thin, caramel skin glowing in the dying sunlight. Her figure was steady; a statue with a backdrop of her empire.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure out that loophole." She sighed, reclining in her large leather chair. She tapped the desk and a screen floated above it; a young boy – around the same age as Runt – looked startled. "Ceejay, please release Stray's cuffs."

"Are you sure?" The boy glanced at me, nervous eyes darting.

"I'm sure. He isn't a threat," she drawled.

Clicks and taps came from the boy's screen, the cuffs soon hissed and fell to the thick carpet. A red line had been left around my normal wrist, my robotic arm without a scratch. I backed away from her, slowly creeping towards the door. She was looking out of the window, her back slightly turned away from me. I reached for the door handle and heaved against the heavy door.

"Daniel," she called. Her face still turned away from me. "I hope we can play chess one day."

*

"Ma'am, are you sure we should have let him go?" Ceejay squeaked.

Hera sighed, tapping her metallic nails against the glass desk. "Put Kira on the line please, Ceejay."

Another screen popped up next to Ceejay's; the blonde's hair was damp, sweat plastered her forehead. "Oh, Hera, what's up?" Kira grunted, the sound of weights clanking down onto a cement floor accompanying it.

"I would like you to do me a favour," Hera said.

"That is?"

"You're a bounty hunter, I'd like you to hunt someone down for me."

Kira's eyebrow's climbed her gleaming forehead, sweat still pouring into her one blue eye. "Haven't gone hunting in a while. How big's the pay?"

"Five hundred thousand credits," Hera said, picking out different alcohol. Plus Grade tequila, it would have to do. She unscrewed the lid and poured it into a new glass.

"Let me guess, that little shit ran away?" Kira groaned. "I told you we should have shot him when we had the chance. Lord knows we need the money considering what's been happening with the Gatekeepers."

"I let him go," Hera said, mixing the liquid with energizing powder. She had a meeting with the Council tonight, and she needed every ounce of energy she could muster as she attempted to sit through their bickering and demeaning talks. "He exercised his freedom, so I let him walk away."

"So do you want me to kill him or not, sis?"

"He's far too important for you to kill. I just need you to convince him to stay." She sipped the mix, a little bitter, but then again, she barely had taste buds. So everything including alcohol was a little bitter. "I've already ploughed the soil, all you have to do is plant the seed."

"And who's going to water it?" Kira wiped her brow with her forearm, more sweat ran down her face.

"I already have a plan for that. Oh, and one more thing, he wants to see his mother. Desperately. Use that information as you wish."

"Loud and clear Your Majesty," Kira smirked. "Loud and clear."