Kane's voice boomed out, amplified through the hovering platforms. “Do not flinch, my friends. Step into the light and face the judgement of Omn. Do not fear, the pure of heart among you will be saved. Step into the light, and an eternity of joy awaits you.”
The sickening stench of burning flesh suddenly filled the air. Selene hesitated, finally stopped by what was taking place around her. Without thinking about it, she deactivated her olfactory responses. A collective scream rose from the crowd as they swelled backwards, desperate to get away from the stairs, away from the terrible beam-weapon fire. Even she wasn't strong enough to push against them. People were trampling over each other to flee, all thought of revolt gone. Kane did not relent. The beam-weapons continued their work, washing across the throng. He was a painter brushing his canvas in a wash of red. Concordance had allowed the attack on the temple to take place, had let the rebels come, so that they could be more easily identified and slaughtered.
She slid her blaster from its holster on her ankle. One shot, that was all she needed. The surging crowd buffeted her, throwing her around, making targeting difficult. She switched to her left hand and let her biomechanics maintain a rock-solid aim on Kane's chest, slightly to one side where his heart should be.
She fired, hit – but some energy shielding flared around the Walker, dissipating the power of the shot. Kane found her in the crowd, shouted something, pointing her out to the guards and the hovering observation platforms. More than one person next to her screamed and dropped as they were struck, the sudden heat from their burning flesh flaring upon her own skin. The rational part of her brain said she had to run, too. With a cry of fury, she let the panicking crowd sweep her away.
She forced her way into one of the side-roads leading from the square. She thought she'd escaped, but it immediately became apparent this was part of Concordance's plan, too. Let the trouble-makers flee and then funnel them into traps. The fleeing rebels turned a corner to be met with a line of City Guard officers, hand blasters trained on them.
Rather than firing and giving her location away, Selene charged. She was close enough to reach them: in a run she was limited by the speed of her natural musculature, but her enhanced left half allowed her to fling herself forwards to barrel into the Guards before they could fire. She was suddenly on the ground, punching and kicking as the Guards engulfed her, striking her with the butts of their rifles, kicking at her with their metal boots. One placed his boot on her neck to choke off her breathing.
With a roar she forced herself to her feet, throwing her assailant against a wall. Seeing what she'd done, another Guard levelled his blaster to fire. Her left arm moving more quickly that the Guard could react to, Selene swept the weapon from his hands and punched him hard in the face-mask, sending him reeling backwards to the ground. For a minute or more, Selene was a whirl of kicks and punches as she battled the Guards. She was aware only of the choreography of it; the dance of lunges and ripostes.
Others among the blank-masks joined in, striking blows and kicks of their own. More and more rioters surged down the passageway. Suddenly, only one Guard survived. He stood over a prone female blank-mask holding a length of steel pipe he'd picked up from somewhere, about to slam it down into her chest, skewer her to the ground. Selene moved before the Guard could strike, throwing herself at him, hurling him against a wall. With her left fist she pummelled him into unconsciousness.
For the moment, the fight was over, the Guards lying in broken heaps on the ground. From the lack of heartbeats, she knew several of them were dead.
“We have to get away,” she called. “More will come.” The blank-mask she'd saved lay at her feet, blood running freely from a gash on her forehead. Selene considered, assessing her options. She had no access to overhead telemetry that might tell her the best escape route to take. Others were already fleeing, limping away before more Guards arrived. The prone blank-mask twisted herself round onto her knees to force herself vertical.
The winged-heart tattoo upon her inner wrist was immediately familiar. Selene helped the woman to her feet, lifted the mask from her face. She was young, her eyes wide from the shock of what she'd seen, the closeness of her death. Bruises marred the smoothness of the skin on her cheek. The cut in her scalp didn't appear to be too deep. It took her a moment to recognize Selene.
Selene said, “So now it's my turn to rescue you. We need to get off the streets before they slaughter everyone. Do you have a place here? Is there somewhere safe we can go?”
The woman's voice was faint. “I have a place. Across the New Bridge.”
Selene tore a scrap of clothing off one of the fallen and gave it to the woman. Hold this on your head to stop the bleeding. Lean on me.”
Selene supported her as they worked their way through the crowds, stepping over bodies trampled in the terrible crush. There was nothing she could do for any of them. She consulted the maps in her brain. New Bridge was north. It was also three hundred years old; presumably the name had once made sense. The crush of people fleeing Senefore swept them along so long as they could keep their feet. Fires burned and distant explosions crumped in the air; it was impossible to say whether they were fireworks, a part of the celebrations oblivious to what had taken place, or acts of destruction being unleashed upon the crowds. Each flash briefly lit up the faces of those around Selene, their grotesque masks making the procession
