Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (65 page)

What a bullshit cable connection...

"Ladies and gentlemen. This just in: at 11:49 PM last night, a rogue Alchemist stormed his way into the Demesne Five Police Headquarters and opened fire--"

Caleb sputtered and whipped around, staring at his television.
 

"--though not directly
at
officers. The rogue apparently just wanted to get their attention for a greater scheme: the robbery of their weapons cage. Luckily, no officers were killed or harmed in the attack. What you are about to see is real footage of the robbery, and we do warn you, the footage is disturbing."

Eyes glued, Caleb walked over to the television, balking when he saw the 5'5" shrimp walk in through the front doors, lift his gun, and fire off a few rounds. He was wearing a balaclava and the wolf-moon robes of a Desmene Five Civilian. But what came next was unreal. As the officers pulled their weapons, the intruder lifted his hand-- and changed the cops' clothing from cotton to bronze, encasing them in full-body casts.

Holy hell.

He watched as one of the cops, still encased but with hands unencumbered by metal, began to squeeze the trigger of his gun. The gun didn't respond, and the robber walked up to him and snatched the firearm from his hand before making rounds to the other cops. The robber plucked the misfiring weapons from the human statues and threw them into the duffel bag on his shoulder. Metal to fabric. Caleb snapped his head to the kiln of soft blue silk hanging over the back of his love seat, understanding. This had to be the same Alchemist, the one who'd trashed the Sigma Express.

He looked at his watch. 4:29 AM... this happened hours ago. Why the hell hadn't anyone called him?

The newscaster continued on. "Even more disturbing, the robber looked no older than a teenager, though alchemic law enforcement has no record of teenaged Azure Alchemists currently missing in action. The Demesne Five Headquarters Police Captain, Jebediah Palmer, could not be reached for comment--"

The newscast muted as the front door slammed behind Caleb, his breakfast going cold on the counter.

Panting, Zeika dragged herself through the dark, not seeing, but believing full well that she had found Koan Hollow 12.
 

For a long while, she'd sat in the basement of her Forge with her bag of guns, unsure of what she'd done or why. Was she trying to join Koa or bring their assassins to her? She'd bounced these questions around in her mind, knowing only that whatever happened, it would erase her from the world, just as she planned.
 

Still, her own actions puzzled her. She hadn't
had
to rob the police in such a fashion; so why did she? She could have made this all simpler, by pulling the trigger on herself and removing herself that way. But there were problems with this, the biggest being that if her body were ever found, it would connect her family to her crimes and put them in danger. It wouldn't do to just magically resurrect, even as a corpse. The world had thought she'd burned alive, down to the ashes. She needed to disappear completely.

The other problem, and this was only if she were
truly
being honest with herself, was that somewhere inside, she actually wanted to live. Some part of her believed that she
deserved
to live, and even if she didn't, she at least deserved a better death. She'd always promised herself she'd never let this world drive her to suicide, that Death would have to drag her out of it, kicking and screaming. She'd done a hell of a lot of that at the police station, that was for damned sure. Somehow, she wanted to do more. She felt
compelled
to do more.

She'd taken the APs for all they had, as much as she could carry, at least. Then she'd turned the rest of their weapons into silk, beautifully accessorizing their stone-drab weapons cage. Much as she felt bad about it, it had also been kind of fun. She'd never been able to flex her powers like that in public, ever. She'd had to do a few things she didn't like, though, including showing the tattoo on her wrist to the precinct's security camera, downloading the robbery footage, and delivering it to a local news outlet via the "k-head express".
 

Risky, but she couldn't take any chances that Koa wouldn't see her complete her last task. Turned out to be a good decision. The news had quickly gone national... and it was then that the tattoo on her wrist activated. It had begun to burn, its lines crawling around her skin. And now, as she drew closer to the hollow, the tattoo formed a solid number twelve, burning brightly in the dank tunnel.

Another few twists and turns brought her to a grime-covered door, partially hidden by the sewage around her ankles. She pounded on it, and waited, tense. She heard something unlock with a deep groan, but the door in front of her never opened.
 

Might not be a welcome party. Might be a trap.

Whatever they were planning, it was fine.
 

Iron bars shot up out of the water and slammed closed around and above her, caging her in. She was trapped.

Shit!

Her natural survival instincts kicked in, and briefly forgetting her plan, she reached into her robes to grab her gun. But before she could wilt down the iron cage, a trap door high above her slid open. Light fell into the tunnel, and three muzzles poked through the hole, aiming at her.

"Hands up, grip the bars, and look straight up, or you're dead."

Easy, Z. This is what you wanted, remember? You get deleted, no matter how it happens.

Body trembling, Zeika nodded obediently, grabbed the bars, and looked up. She set her jaw as the lift beneath her feet rose, bringing her and the cage up into the light.

She was still blinking off her blindness when she arrived in the warm and dry space, but her other senses told her the insurgents were still aiming. She felt it, the pull in her gut towards their steel.

"Keep your hands on the bars, sweetheart. Or we'll have to plug ya. Okay?"

Her eyes finally adjusted, her lips parting in shock as her gaze touched on all five bodies in Hollow 12. "You're... you're all kids..."

"Oh a bright one, this one is. Franz picked a real ringer," a boy in the corner snickered. A pair of light brown eyes gazed through the tousled red rags of his hair. The apple-shaped face that crowned his lanky frame looked tickled with amusement as he stared at her. He jumped off what looked like a huge communications console and strode over, stretching his hand out to the bars.

"The name's Clementine. Or Greg, if you like it personal." His accent sounded freshly-Aussie, strangely enough.

Zeika frowned and looked down at his hand. "No. I don't. Not even a little bit."

Greg raised an eyebrow and looked at the guy next to him. "Oi, the little tart's a tad short on manners, ain't she?"

Zeika's eyes widened as she looked at the kid Greg was talking to. Curly dark brown hair, dark eyes... but this time, the eyes were real, not staring out at her from a newspaper clipping. The guy smiled as he walked up to the bars, wrapping his fingers around hers.

"She's never been that great of a people person. Isn't that right? Ezekiel?"

"No..." she stuttered, her insides turning to mush. "Johnny
?
"

Jonathan Espinoza-Quinn, who hadn't been seen for over two years, was standing in front of her. Except he'd grown a foot or so taller, and a muscle-size or two wider. Not at all the shrimp she'd known five rows back, ten doors down.

"Didn't recognize you at first, but it's a nice look for you." He shot her a winning smile, reaching through to stroke her buzzed head. "Miss me?"

"Ugh!" Greg rolled his eyes and turned to a girl, plump and blonde, who was standing at his left.
 
"Turls, get the newbie out of there before Johnny decides to slip his wanger between the bars."

Zeika looked past Johnny, as much to calm herself as to see who Greg was talking to. "Turls" was still aiming at her, eyeing her warily. She didn't move. "Are we not going to follow protocol?"
 

Zeika felt the warmth leave her fingers as Johnny let go and stepped back. "Yes. We are." He lifted his chin, leveling his eyes with hers. "Take off your clothes."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Johnny lifted his gun, aiming at her chest. "Clothes. Off. Underwear, too. And pass them through the bars. Keep your hands in clear view. Do it, or we send you back down into the sewer."
 

Okay. It wasn't as though she'd expected Johnny to propose, but this was a bit much. She looked around, distressed--
 
a distress that deepened when she saw Turls pull out a pair of medical gloves.
 

Turls pursed her lips apologetically. "Sorry, kid. We'd afford you some privacy, but we need at least one gun on you. In case you get rowdy."

"Yeah. Sure." Zeika muttered bitterly.
 

"Hey, one of you turn around." Turls snapped at the boys. "I said
one
gun."

Greg looked over at Johnny, grinning. "Wanna do a rock-paper-scissors on it, Juanito?"

Johnny rolled his eyes and turned his back on the scene. "Sorry, Z. This is something we have to do."

"YES!" Greg hooted. He grabbed his gun and aimed at her, looking on with a shit-eating grin. "Too bad we can't record this--"

"Shut up, Greg!" Turls and Johnny snapped in unison.

Zeika took a breath, peeled off her clothes, and slipped them through the bars as commanded. Turls picked the clothes up and handed them to Johnny, who handed her some folds of fabric in return. Johnny shook out Zeika's stuff, dug his hands in the pockets. He never turned around.

"She's clear," he said. He then walked out the room, hitting a switch on the console as he did.
 

The door to the cage opened.

"Hands up," Turls commanded. "Up and away from the bag. Step out. Greg?"

Zeika stepped out the cage, hands raised, and Greg approached her, taking the duffel bag from the floor, but still aiming. She watched him as he walked over to the right wall, where for the first time, she noticed a scanner. He put the bag on its conveyor belt, looking at her down the barrel of the gun. A green light flicked on at the top of the scanner as the bag went through.

"Homage is clear."

"Okay." Turls forced a smile as she pulled the medical gloves tight. "This'll only take a minute."

"Take your time, Turls." Greg said, admiring Zeika's figure.

Hands still in the air, Zeika flipped him the bird and looked away, indignant. Turls examined her, looking in her eyes, ears, mouth, under the tongue, all with a clinical professionalism. She then searched her, cavities and all.

Zeika gritted her teeth, suddenly flinching.

"Oops, sorry," Turls muttered. "Ran up against the cherry."

Zeika cleared her throat, feeling her face go warm. "Look, this is a search. No need to make any special announcements."

"Sorry," Turls giggled. She stepped back and pulled off the gloves, finally done. She handed Zeika a robe, thin and cheap, and Zeika hurriedly threw it on.

"You're all clear. You hungry? We put something in your room for you. It's small, but you shouldn't eat too heavy before you get to bed anyway."

Zeika hesitated. "That's-- that's it?"

"For now, yeah."

Creasing her brow, Zeika looked off to the side, puzzled. She'd half-expected them to blow holes in her, set dogs on her,
something
. Anything but a bathrobe and dinner.

"What?"

"Well, Franz and Davy said it would be a little-- I don't know-- harder to break in? That you guys weren't accepting recruits."

"Yeah. He's sort of right about that. Johnny made an executive decision. Don't get ahead of yourself. You're not in quite yet, and you came at a weird time. You just passed our preliminary check, but you still need to be approved by our progenitor cell. That's going to take work. If you want a place here, you've got to earn it."

"What's a progenitor cell?"

"Anyone 18 or older serves in progenitor cells, or P-cells, teams of five that serve as the main foot soldiers of Koa. Anyone 17 or younger is automatically assigned to a filial cell, or F-cells, who provide support for the progenitor cells. All ghosts-- like us-- are filial. Every P-cell is paired with an F-cell, and in order to get you initiated, our P-cell has to induct you."

"I see. And the homage?"

"For the P-cell. We don't look at it. They do." Turls turned, motioning to the corridor into which Johnny had disappeared. "I've got to put you in now, Zeika. Sorry."

Zeika nodded, following after Turls, noting that Greg was trailing closely behind, still aiming. They walked down a tiny hall, sparse, cheerless, but warm, and they stopped at the end of the hallway, in front of a barred room that Turls began to unlock.

"This looks like the prisoner's quarters," Zeika said.

"It is. It's our brig. Quinn won't have you sleeping anywhere else until you're officially initiated, so you'll have to get used to it. Lights out time for you will be 10:30 pm every night. Greg is the kitchen bitch, so he'll be bringing your meals to you."

"Hey!" Greg snapped.

Zeika turned to face them, and she was met with faces that were surprisingly warm and soft. Even with Greg holding the gun on her, he looked decidedly bored about the whole thing. They looked nothing like the assholes who had attacked her lot just a couple months ago, and she briefly wondered if they were child soldiers at all.

"Convincing the progenitor cells to keep you is going to be hard, but obviously Johnny thinks you can do it." Turls continued. "Impress them, and I think you can earn your way into Koa. Sweet dreams." She opened the door for her, bade her goodnight, and then walked down the hallway.

"Cute, ain't she?" Greg snickered and wiggled his nose. "Look, I'll tell you what she's staying mum about. Things are about to get real hard in the Protecteds. That's why recruitment's been cut."

Zeika creased her brow, remembering Franz' words.
War is coming.
"Hard like how?"

Greg shrugged and looked at his watch. "Well. You'll find out in a few hours. You'll see." He pushed her into the brig, and closed and locked the doors. "But no worries." He smiled. "You're with us now. If you need anything, give us a holler."