One woman slowed to a brisk walk as she caught sight of Moss in his armor but broke back into a run as she moved beyond him. Shops were being closed or simply abandoned, and he moved in the opposite direction of the action, toward the VIP area. He shook his head, thinking about the moniker given to a place where the prisoners had even fewer freedoms than those in the city.

  The tower loomed as Moss moved toward the edge of the city. It was constructed of red bricks set with metal hooks which curved downward toward the ground. A metal fence barred entry to the staircase. Stan guarded Patchwork who sat on the ground with his arms wrapped around his knees. Moss did not acknowledge them, waving instead to the guard looking out from the tower. He hardly seemed to notice, looking off in the distance at the assembling mob. Moss waved his hand over the locking mechanism at the gate, and it clicked, the door swinging loose.

  As he moved through, he kicked a piece of loose brick between the door and the jamb so it could not magnetize fully closed. As he was under the lip of the tower, the guard above did not see the little nod Moss shot to Stan.

  Moss ascended the steps in a hurry and spoke as he opened the lock to the tower office. “I’m here to relieve you.”

  The guard turned, looking tired and perplexed. He was an older man with thinning hair that formed a ring around a mostly bald head. Large bags hung heavy under keen eyes, and Moss watched as the man’s hand moved slightly toward an alert button.

  “By you?” he asked dubiously.

  Moss tried to act cool and shifted slightly, letting his hand fall on his weapon. “Yep.”

  “What’s going on out there? The guests are all a-flurry but no one’s answering comms,” the guard said. His hand was moving closer to the alert as he spoke.

  “Oh,” Moss said, playing at casual. “You see—” And as he spoke, he drew Twelve’s weapon and fired. In the instant Moss moved, the man looked unsurprised and reached for the button.

  The bolt struck him too quickly, and he began convulsing. He reached in desperation, but his body failed him, and he flailed to the ground. Moss hurried over and took his weapon before binding his wrists behind his back with his own electronic cuffs.

  Stan carried Patchwork to the vacated chair in front of a bank of three monitors. Moss handed Stan the guard’s gun. “You keep him upright.”

  Stan snorted. “Do my best.” Moss knew he was annoyed at his new assignment but didn’t have the time to get into it.

  “You gonna be alright?” Moss asked Patchwork as the young man set about his work on the computers.

  Patchwork looked up, a crooked smile across his lips, “Well, I mean if you are giving me a choice?”

  Moss smirked. It made him happy that even like this, with everything going on around them, the kid could still joke. “No, no, I am not,” he said dryly.

  Moss looked at Stan who nodded. “Go get Sandra. Burn would be proud,” he said with a kind smile. Moss knew he was right and smiled as he exited.

  He paused and stuck his head back through the door. “You know Judy is just looking out for you?”

  “I know,” Stan admitted with a wistful smile.

  Moss thought about how he was able to disarm Twelve, and all that Stan had taught him. He wanted to inspire his friend. “And you know I couldn’t have done any of this without what you’ve shown me?”

  Stan’s smile broadened. “I know. Go get her, man.”

  Moss tapped his hand against the doorjamb in acknowledgment and made his way to the bridge to the VIP area.

  He passed through several gates to a long path flanked on both sides by chain-link squares containing the hovels of the highest value assets. The entire area stank of shit and Moss noticed plastic buckets of fecal matter set just inside the gates awaiting pickup.

  “Some VIP area,” he muttered, gripping his gun in anticipation of running into more guards. He saw none.

  He had noticed the number ten spray-painted on the small shack in the video of his grandmother and was looking to see if he could find it in the labyrinth of cages. Infuriatingly, the numbers of the spaces did not appear to be in any sensical order, so Moss was left to hurry around like a headless chicken.

  He knew that in the rest of the city, the guards were demanding benefits while the prisoners were preparing to riot, and time was not on his side. He ignored the pleas of prisoners who called out to him as he passed, wishing he could help but knowing that he could not. He tried to convince himself that they were in these cells for good reasons—that they were killers or rapists—but seeing them made him doubt it.

  He scrambled down streets and alleyways, a sense of hopelessness and terror beginning to course through his veins. As he rounded one corner, what he saw struck him like a punch to the face.

  Chapter 20

  “Grimy?” Moss asked, the breath nearly sucked from his lungs.

  The face his friend wore made Moss nervous—it was not that of elation but of worry. He recovered quickly and smiled, rushing over to give him an awkward embrace.

  He was dressed in pristine blue linens with an armband similar to what the guards wore. The scrubs bore the Carcer logo on the breast pocket as well as an emblem indicating that he was a medical man.

  “Moss, what are you doing here?” Grimy asked, looking up and down the street nervously.

  Moss looked at him with puzzlement. “We are here to get you out. What are you doing here?”

  He pulled on the Carcer emblem, and Grimy looked down, shifting uncomfortably. The energy he was putting off made Moss feel ill at ease. He knew it was a shock and that Grimy was always a bit aloof, but he seemed particularly peculiar.

  “They pressed me into service,” Grimy explained and cleared his throat.

  “What do you mean?” Moss asked, forgetting momentarily about everything else he needed to be doing.

  Grimy’s posture changed. He shrunk down and held his arms close to his body. “When they learned that I was a makeshift medic, they asked if I wanted to do this rather than simply be a prisoner. I didn’t think you would be coming for us so soon.”

  Moss shook his head in confusion. “But why help them? Why not just go into gen pop and meet up with the others?”

  “I wanted to help,” Grimy offered unconvincingly. Moss didn’t know what to make of all this.

  “Help?” he asked. “Help fucking Carcer?”

  Grimy’s demeanor turned icy. “I’m helping the prisoners, or guests, as it were. I’m helping the people in need here. It’s my duty.”

  “You’re a vet!” Moss exclaimed. “And a freedom fighter. Not some cooperate stooge.”

  At the mention of the word “vet,” Grimy turned red with anger. He was a slight man and no fighter, but he looked to Moss as though he was getting ready to throw a punch. “Well, I’m sorry my wanting to help people doesn’t align with your current philosophy.”

  Moss couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew that Grimy was inclined to help but not like this, not helping people who wanted them dead. “Current philosophy? This has been our collective way of thinking,” Moss nearly shouted. “Do you even want to get out of here?”

  Moss asked, and the look on Grimy’s face sent a chill down his spine. It was calculating and in a way which Moss had never seen, and it made him nervous. His heart broke at what he was thinking.

  “Oh,” Grimy muttered, shuffling his feet, “yes, of course, I want to leave.”

  Moss looked into the man’s eyes. “Grimy, what did they ask you about when they took you in?”

  “Pardon?” Grimy looked genuinely confused.

  “What did they ask you about when they took you in?” Moss repeated slowly, the words heavy as they left his mouth.

  “Oh, nothing much. They wanted to know our evil plans and how we had pulled off the ThutoCo job, that sort of thing,” he explained, but the words were shaky.

  Moss let his head drop a moment, staring at the filthy ground beneath his feet before asking, “And did they ask you about me?”

  He looked up to see Grimy shake his head vigorously. “No, not really.”

  “Oh, Grimy,” Moss exhaled. He felt as though all his strength had been sapped from him. “You’ve never been a very good liar.”

  “Pardon?” Grimy said defensively, but Moss could see through it. Grimy seemed to know the jig was up. He dropped his head and began to weep. Moss put one hand on Grimy’s shoulder and the other on Twelve’s pistol.

  “How did they get you?” Moss asked, his heart breaking.

  “Please,” Grimy whimpered.

  “I’m not going to do anything. I just need to know,” Moss assured him. He didn’t know what to do. He was enraged at the betrayal but sad for his friend.

  “They,” Grimy began, wiping tears and mucus from his face. “They picked me up outside the perfumery a month ago. They had me, threatened me. I didn’t want to be tortured, abused. I couldn’t take it. I cracked. But I only told them a little. Just enough so they would let me go. Please, Moss, you have to believe me.”

  Moss’s hand was vibrating with rage. He looked at the sad husk of the man who had once saved the life of his best friend, the man who had taken in Ynna when she was beaten nearly to death. Betrayal, rage, and misery coursed through him, leaving him unable to think. He felt his thumb click the gun to lethal.

  “You didn’t want to be hurt. Because of you, everyone was hurt. Stan was beaten, and Patch still hasn’t recovered. CT is fucking dead. Thrown from a roof because you didn’t want to pay the price that comes with this life? I’ve had to murder people to get here. Gibbs had to betray everything he believes to get you out. We’ve all paid, and,” Moss said as he pulled the weapon from its holster. “And CT is fucking dead!” he repeated.

  Grimy fell to his knees, sobbing and holding his hands up. “I didn’t want any of that! I never wanted to hurt you!”

  “You knew what would happen to us. To all of us. I’m just lucky I snuck out, right?” Moss accused.

  Grimy nodded, tears streaming to the ground beneath him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Of course, you’re sorry. Everyone is fucking sorry when they get caught,” Moss said with disgust. “So, what? You betray us, and you get to live out your days as a Carcer medic? That about it?”

  Grimy said nothing. He continued to sniffle and cry.

  Moss pulled out the gun. Grimy let out a wail.

  “Please, Moss,” Grimy said. Looking at the pathetic shell of the man, Moss’s heart broke once more.

  “You know the price,” Moss said, his own voice shaking, eyes burning. He did not want to do what he knew he had to. Burn had always made the cost of betrayal clear to all of them.

  “I didn’t,” Grimy stuttered.

  “I have to know,” Moss began. “What did you tell them. Actually. What do they know?”

  The words choked from his mouth, “Not much, I swear it.”

  “Tell me!” Moss thundered, pointing the weapon.

  Grimy raised his hands defensively. “They know,” was all he could force.

  “Know what?” he asked through gritted teeth. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His hand trembled.

  “They know you have the program, that your father made you a weapon against the AIC,” he admitted, sounding as though a burden was lifted from him.

  “Fuck, Grimy,” Moss said, letting the gun in his hand fall slack for a moment.

  Grimy didn’t try to reach for the weapon or stop what he knew was coming, he simply looked up at Moss with a tear-stained face. “My name is Terrence. You know I hate that nickname. Burn thought that he was so clever.”

  At the mention of Burn’s name, Moss tightened his grip on the weapon, pressing his finger hard against the trigger guard. “That so? Well, maybe you could have said something rather than selling us all down the river?”

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Grimy pleaded.

  Moss scoffed with disgust. “Oh, yeah, Grimy. What the fuck did you think would happen?”

  “I’m—I’m sorry, Moss,” he said again.

  Moss was miserable. He hated how he felt. Hated what the man had done, what it had caused, and the void left by misplaced trust. His body vibrated with the intensity of it all.

  Grimy looked right into his eyes. “So, what now? You’re going to kill me, I suppose?”

  “Grimy or Terrence, whatever the fuck, you destroyed everything we worked for. Got us killed and imprisoned. Gave our enemies everything they needed,” Moss seethed. He moved forward, pressing the gun against Grimy’s forehead, causing him to burst into tears again. “But you seem to have forgotten one thing.”

  Grimy looked up at him with misery in his eyes. He forced, “What’s that?”

  “We’re the good guys,” Moss said and raised the gun, bringing the butt crashing down on his old friend’s head. Grimy fell to the ground with a light thud. A small trickle of blood escaped a minor gash. He would wake in pain but would survive. Moss knew what Burn would have done, what many of the others would have done, but he couldn’t kill Grimy. He had sold them out, betrayed them to the enemy, but he had helped them, too. He had done so much for them, and Moss couldn’t execute him the way their enemies would have no qualm in doing. They were better than that.

  He also knew that Grimy would have already given Carcer everything he had. He would be no help to them anymore. He had made his bed, and now he would sleep in it.

  Miserably, Moss turned to look around and try to get his bearings. He still had a job to do, and running into Grimy had chewed into time he didn’t have. As he looked, he caught sight of a prisoner who had been watching the whole thing unfold. She simply stared at Moss with hollow eyes, reflecting how he felt. Neither said a word.

  Moss shrugged, not knowing what else to do and began walking again as if in a haze. He tried to shake the feeling and get back to his mission, but he was distracted.

  Hey guys, Moss heard Seti’s familiar Australian accent in his mind’s ear, communicated through the neural implant in his head. It felt as if it had been so long since he had used this. But for the first time in what felt like a long time, his lip twitched into a smile. Patchwork had gotten through to the outside.

  Seti, it’s great to hear from you, Ynna said.

  Oh, you’re all in C City, Seti said, clearly having got a read on their location. What can I do?

  Start looking for some safe routes out of here and be ready to let us know, Ynna ordered.

  On it, Seti replied.

  Gibbs chimed in, Things are getting pretty hairy over here.

  Yeah, no shit. Out here, too, Ynna added. Moss, you find your grandmother?

  No, not yet, Moss thought to them.

  Things are about to get pretty real pretty quick, so perhaps you could hurry along? Ynna suggested.

  Moss hadn’t planned on telling them about Grimy until he saw them but needed them to know he wasn’t simply wasting time. I found Grimy, he informed them.

  That’s great, Gibbs put in.

  I don’t see him on comms, Seti pointed out.

  Moss sighed. He was working with Carcer, he told them finally. I’ll fill you all in later, but he won’t be joining us.

  No, he heard Ynna say. Even through the transmission, he could hear the pain in her. He imagined her stopping amidst the throng of rioting prisoners, realizing the reality of it. His heart broke for her as it had for himself.

  I’m sure you guys have heaps of emotions now, but it seems like you have things you need to do, Seti offered by way of distraction. Moss, I’ve got a fix on your location. Where are you trying to get?

  Cage ten, Moss said. He waited in silence. He wanted to say something more to Ynna but could not think of the words.

  Time passed excruciatingly.

  Seti spoke after what felt like an age. Two rights and a left.

  Thank you, Moss said, truly grateful.

  He hurried down the narrow alleyways, ignoring the shouts from the prisoners.

  He saw the spray-painted ten and stopped. The old woman from the video, the grandmother he had not seen for years, knelt over a small flower growing in a tin can.

  Panting, elated, and overwhelmed, Moss did not know what to say. He said the only thing he could think. “Grandma?”

  The woman’s shoulders raised defensively, and she turned one cautious eye to face him. When she saw his face, she gasped.

  “M—Moss?”

  Chapter 21

  She got to her feet as quickly as her frail and beaten body would allow. She looked at him with a disbelief he didn’t think possible.

  “I’m guessing you don’t work for Carcer?” she asked with an absolute smile, joy replacing the shock.

  Moss grinned, his heart racing. “No. No, I do not.”

  He waved his wrist over the lock, and it beeped before clicking open. He pulled on the gate to hug his grandmother. It did not budge.

  “Oh, honey, it gets stuck,” Sandra chuckled. “You have to lift and pull.”

  He did as instructed and swung the door open. He grabbed her and pulled her in tight, her slight frame thumping against the armor. He wept into her white hair.

  “I cannot believe you came for me,” she said. Though overcome with emotion, she did not shed a tear.

  Moss pulled himself together, releasing her and saying, “I came as soon as I could.”

  She cocked her head at him. “Brave and stupid, just like me.”

  “Certainly seems that way,” he said. Going from seeing Grimy to seeing her left his head spinning.

  “We leaving now?” she asked, her demeanor shifting. In an instant, she had become all business, her eyes shifting and mind strategizing.

  “We are,” Moss said, wondering how things were going for the rest of the crew.

  “Bring me a weapon?” she asked. He had not considered that she would want one and felt foolish at his own surprise at the question.

  She had been a leader her whole life. First in the military and then with Burn. He fished in his pocket for his gun.

 

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