The gravel path becomes more confining, narrowing the further we crawl. We inch through until we finally reach an area big enough for both of us to squat. Dark, all but tiny lines of light peering through little gaps in the steel hatch attached to the outside world above.
She bangs exactly three times.
The metal echoes through the tunnel are chilling, soon interrupted by the muffled sound of someone fidgeting with a lock. The hatch swings open and light blinds us.
A few seconds to adjust and the faces of Vulcan and Hector are staring down over us. Vulcan, with his bottle-eyed goggles and a warped smile. Hector, with four glass vials screwed into his facemask. Electric orange liquid splashes in them, probably a mix of adrenochrome and painkillers if I had to guess. I’ve seen that shit before. Liquid rage.
Vulcan pulls me out after Selene. The hatch led us to another room, residential, a bit ran-down, though. The only window is boarded. Glass and grains of sand sprinkle the floor around it. The padlocked door in front of us appears to be the only exit out of this tiny room.
The walls are a dusty beige. Graffiti stained to the one closest. The Lethe eagle in red drips behind a message. MAY THE HANDS OF KRONOS OUTLIVE TIME, sprayed fresh in Elysium blue.
Selene throws me a wad of black cloth from the duffel bag, thick and baggy. The others are already putting theirs on, an oversized poncho that swallows everyone, even Hector.
I throw it over my head as she shoves a rifle in my arms.
“Know how to use one of these?” she asks, brow raised, staring me dead in my eyes.
I’ve never fired one outside 34. The last time when I met Athan. “I’ve got a little experience.”
“Good. Sling it under your poncho and don’t let anyone see it until you get the signal.”
“What’s the signal?”
“You’ll know the signal,” smirks Vulcan loading his gravity launcher. His weapon is as tall as he is, alien-like, constructed from misparted machinery.
“Alright guys listen up for a sec,” instructs Selene, center of the abandoned room. She hands us each a sign bolted to a metal pipe. Your death or my freedom? written across one in red.
Fuck Lethe Corp! on another. “Niko has already organized the distraction. The protest has been going white hot outside Lethe tower since the Eros hack last night. At least a quarter of the city is out there. All as planned so far. Our job is to blend in, wait for the signal, then, give ‘em hell.
“This isn’t going to be easy. Intel says there are a few things to look out for. Lethe has several energy turrets protecting the tower. They’re anticipating another strike. We’ll need to take them out first so our reinforcements can rush the tower with the big guns. Vulcan has so graciously provided every squad with a box of hand-built scorpions along with some other explosives. We have enough for each of you to take two but be extremely careful, you don’t want one of these to sting you. Once activated it sends an electromagnetic pulse surging through your entire body, burning any upgrade installed, frying every organ until it detonates, slinging shrapnel straight through you. If you can, save them for the turrets.”
She throws the dark hood to her poncho over her head, gives us all one last look. “This is it, boys. Good luck to you all. We’re going to need it.“ Armed with her sign she unlocks the door and marches into the city. Her chin held high.
Behind her, Vulcan, then Hector.
The roar from the protest took the room the second the door opened. I pause, seized with the reality of what’s happening. Something in me begs me to run, to hide forever in the Outlands. I don’t think I can do this... I’m not Palin anymore.
Unsteady, I brace myself on the wall beside me. My fingers glide over the wet paint of the mural.
I can almost hear Palin now. Remember why you’re doing this, who you’re doing this for. Evil triumphs when good men do nothing. Running away isn’t going to stop them. Submitting to tyranny will never bring about change. This is the only way. Our last resort.
Wet with Elysium blue, I drag two fingertips across the skin under my eyes and lift the hood of my disguise over me. Adjusting the sling to the hidden weapon, I take the last sign and step out the door into Olympia.
The first hint of morning peeks over the dunes of the Outlands, only visible in-between the buildings of the Olympian skyline. Dark, fierce clouds loom from the north, twirling like the onset of a storm. Above Lethe Tower, a clear, navy sky. The moon, not yet lost with the morning, shines around the drifting pieces of planet watching silently from above.
People are everywhere, thousands of them holding signs and banners, shouting, and pacing through the square in front of Lethe Tower. The air simmers with anger, with hate. Laughter in some places. In others, tears. The time is now, still glitches on the hacked screens overhead.
An exploded Lethe pod burns beside me in the open. The flames illuminate the faces of the strangers around it. Even veiled, I recognize one of them from Kronos. The others, I’ve never seen before.
A larger fire rages across the entrance to Lethe Tower. Furious protestors feed it with armfuls of stolen Lethe flags and furniture, anything that’ll burn. Selene and the others are standing near them, motionless, alert.
Lightning cracks.
There are hundreds of droids and a Suit for every ten positioned between us and the tower. The droids have no empathy, no remorse, they never fail to kill on command. The Suits are even worse. With the same apathy towards their fellow man but armed with a human’s natural instinct and the best tech Lethe can develop. In formation they stand lined around the base of Lethe Tower, outnumbering us three
