Twenty-five years ago.

With a broad slash Cutter took out his opponent. Breathing heavily, he kicked the dying kid out of the way and looked around. The other members of his gang were fighting somewhere else. He sat down in the gutter, safe for the moment.

Suddenly the sound of clapping resounded through the alley. He jumped up and looked around. A girl in a pink dress leaned against the rough bricks of one of the buildings. She was staining her expensive looking clothes, but she didn’t seem to care. She seemed a little older than him, but that shouldn’t explain her utter comfort being this close to a murderer.

“That was an excellent display, would you care to repeat it?” Her accent was cultivated, meant to sound educated, upper class. He couldn’t phantom why a girl like that was doing in a place like this. “Fuck off you cunt.” Were the words that came out of his mouth. Instead of fucking off however she straightened and walked towards him. “Tss, hasn’t your mother thought you that manners make a man?” She waggled her finger at him, sassy little bitch.

He raised his knife. “If you don’t beat it now you’re going to regret it.” He said in an as menacing tone as he could manage. She smiled and took a step towards him, and then another one, and another, until she was standing close enough that he could smell her. Roses, lavender and something spicy he couldn’t name. She smelled better than anything his nose had to endure in his miserable life. She gently brought his hand, with the knife in it to her neck. “Is this what you want? To give me another smile? Positively terrifying, don’t you think?” She gave him a wink. “If you ask me nicely I can safe you from a short and bloody life. I can give you wealth and prestige, like you’ve never imagined.” There was an arrogance, no, an absolute certainty in her voice that made him believe her.

“Who the hell are you.” He asked. She brought her face closer, her warm breath in his neck. “I’m a princess of a kind. One day I will be queen. Do you want to be my knight?” There was something about her that made him want to drop his blade and follow her. He felt things he had never felt before. “Yes, I want to be your knight.” She smiled. “You will be my champion, and I will be your queen. We are going to do great things together mister East.”

A boy and a slightly older girl left the alley together. She had great plans, he was prepared to follow her to the ends of the earth.

⤊

Twenty years ago.

Fifteen years old Elizabeth Aksokov watched as her father ruffled through papers, picked up a piece of chalk and made a notation on a chalkboard. He talked while he worked, explaining what he was doing. He was a chemist, not ordained or anything, just a regular chemist. Much like her father she had no intention of giving her future to some foreign god.

“You see El, it is all in the mixture of the compounds. If I can just find the right ones, I can turn this nation upside down.” Her father coughed. “The ordinations, the church, they’re all lies to keep the little man down. The laborers, the dockworkers, the farmers, the government uses the church and the army to keep them on their backs, a gun pointed at their heads. Meanwhile the atrocities committed in the colonies are growing out of control.” He coughed again, and Elizabeth handed him one of the green scarfs. He coughed again and handed the scarf back. Elizabeth pretended that she didn’t see the red stain.

Her father was sick, he had been for a long time, but lately it was getting worse. He refused to see a doctor, saying he already knew what it was. He was going to die, Elizabeth knew it, but didn’t want to except it. Her father was the smartest man in the world, there was no way he couldn’t develop a cure for whatever it was he had. For some reason she couldn’t phantom that wasn’t the formula he tried to develop.

“Listen El, one of the truths of our world is that there is nothing in nature we can’t replicate. Nothing, not a disease, not a process, not even the will of some minor god. I’m close dear, soon this nation will know that their “god” is nothing but a few chemic compounds thrown together.” The words were followed up by more coughing, only this time it didn’t stop. Her father doubled over, then fell to his knees. In seconds Elizabeth was at her father’s side. His breathing was interrupted by gurgling, something was stuck in his throat.

Unceremoniously she opened his mouth and stuck her fingers inside. He puked over her and himself, but she didn’t care. Yellow bile and blood stained their clothes, but once her father was done he was breathing normally again. “Thomas get in here!” She yelled. The door banged open and her brother lumbered in. He was younger, but about twice her size. When he saw their father lying on the ground his eyes became big. “No time for questions, carry him to the bath.” He lifted their father in his arms as if he was a newborn and carried him away.

⤊

Fifteen years ago.

It was a rainy autumn day. A slow procession made its way to the field of obsoletes. Thomas didn’t cry as he carried his father’s coffin. El had cried, a lot, as dad got sicker, on his deathbed, during his wake. It made sense, they were a lot closer. In the past few years he and his father had barely exchanged a dozen words. It was fine, as long as his father was aware who was keeping the family together. While dad and El played chemist he now ran the strongest group of independent bruisers in the city.

He glanced at El, who was walking at the head of the procession. One of his lieutenants was holding an umbrella over her head. Dimitri is a fine man, loyal, in love with his sister. At least that means he will keep her safe until the end of time. Almost all the people in the procession are contacts of Thomas. His father was a solitary man, he didn’t make a lot of friends. The only people Thomas can’t put a name to are two men wearing green scarfs.

They arrived at the field of obsoletes, where a grave had been prepared. No priests, no government officials, just family and subordinates. “We’re going to make this quick, or the grave will with water.” El said distractedly.

Thomas gave his men a signal, and together they lowered the coffin into the grave. With an unceremonious thump the box hit the bottom. No words were spoken, and after five minutes people started leaving. After ten minutes only El, Dimitri, Thomas and the two men wearing green scarfs remained. They walked over to El. The blade fell into Thomas’ hand, as he closed the distance.

“Keep her safe Thom, she’s the future.” His father’s words echoed through his head.

The men in green scarfs halted in front of El. They shook hands. Dimitri looked up, gently shaking his head. The knife disappeared back up his sleeve. He watched as the men spoke, making wild gestures. He saw El nod. There was another round of shaking hands, far more enthusiastically, and the men took off.

He joined El as she left the graveyard. “What are we going to do now?” Thomas asked. “We’re going to finish dad’s work.” She answered.

⤊

Ten Years ago.

The man formerly known as Cutter, now mister East, walked through a dirty alleyway. He was on his way to a warehouse owned by his mistress. He had a meeting there with two women, who were going to make his career. He turned another corner, and there it was, it was as shitty as he had expected it to be. When he entered the two women were already waiting for him. The warehouse was empty, safe for a table, three chairs, three glasses and a bottle of whisky.

“Ah, you’re finally here. Let’s start.” One of the women said as he sat down. He offered them a cigarette and lit one of his own. Soon the slightly mouldy scent of the warehouse was replaced by the familiar sweet aroma. “A round of introductions might be prudent.” The right woman said. “My name is Iris Dice, I’m an ordained bureaucrat stationed in the lowest district.” The left woman took a drag from her cigarette, she looked tired. “Aksokov, Elizabeth Aksokov, chemist, revolutionary, part time mob boss.” She grinned.

“You can address me as East, that is all you need to know.” Mister East said, his tone neutral. “The reason we have gathered here is because we all represent different interests and groups.” He didn’t mention the fact that both he and Aksokov worked for the same woman, mostly because neither of the women in front of him knew that. “Miss Dice here, used to be a woman of means. She intends to be one again. Now you miss Aksokov need contacts who can keep both the army and the cops off your back.” He took another drag. “The Syndicate, who I represent, can fulfil both your needs. We have a vested interest in keeping the lower districts stable, out of sight and out of mind.”

He leaned forwards. “Miss Dice in the coming days you will be promoted. With your newfound influence you will start making miss Aksokov’s life as easy as possible. She in return will help you get rid of opponents, and back you financially. Does all this sound reasonable? Yes, good.” He uncorked the bottle of whisky and poured each a glass.

“Ladies, to the future!”

⤊

Six years ago.

“I want to introduce you all to the newest member of our council, Charles Kingsburg. He will be taking over as the King of the North. We all know of August’s little succession game.” There were nods around the room. “Mister Kingsburg won it fair and square. His main opponent fled the country, the others have all fallen in line.”

The King of the West sat down and poured himself a drink. “Not only will he inherit all of Cabaneri Incorporated’s assets, he will also usurp August’s position as the head of the ISB.” There were chuckles, making Charles look up in anger. “Something funny about that?” The Queen of the South gave him an amused smile. “August butchered the ISB, stole its personnel, slashed its budgets, did everything in his power so that the government would have to rely on his corporation. He thought kid assassins were the future, clearly he was wrong.”

Charles grimaced, apparently the deck wasn’t stacked in his favour. His eye started itching, and he took it out, to the disgust of the Queen of the East. He grinned, he had all the time in the world to figure this out.

⤊

Five years ago.

“It is not good enough, I will need a bigger lab. Also, get me another chemist, I need a second opinion.” Elizabeth Aksokov was far from the most reasonable woman Iris had ever worked with, but her brother was far worse, so she let it slide. “I will get you what you need.” She said.

Bartholomew Shaw wasn’t a chemist, at least not in the traditional sense. His parents had both been chemists, and even though their son had been ordained to be a labourer they had thaught him the craft. It wasn’t however his hobby that was getting him into trouble. No, it was the frequent protests he mounted against his bosses. Labourers were being treated like dirt, as if they were all disposable. It was horrible, and he wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t stand up against it. That others didn’t follow his example was disappointing, but not unexpected. Most labourers couldn’t afford to be unemployed, without the work they and their families would starve. It was one of the things Bartholomew was protesting against. Unfortunately, it tended to end with him behind bars, like now.

“Shaw get up. You have a visitor.” Bartholomew looked up at the warden’s face, which was bored and uncaring. He quickly got up and walked towards the cell door. “See ye in a couple o’ days Shaw.” Ludo drunkenly yelled after him. He gave the drunk a small wave. The two of them had shared this particular cell quite several times before. When he got locked up for disturbing the public order Ludo often got arrested for drunken misconduct. The two of them had shared many a discussion over a bottle of smuggled booze. The drunk was one of the few men who saw things his way and dared to say it out loud.

The warden brought him to an interrogation room. It was a lot nicer than the ones the bluejackets used in the higher districts. Military police always got the good stuff. Inside a lady motioned him to sit. “Mister Shaw, my name is Iris Dice, I’ve heard that you’re quite the amateur chemist.”

⤊

A couple of weeks ago.

“It is finished, Shaw verified as much before he left.” There was a silence as Elizabeth listened to the man on the other line. “Yes, we tested it, why do you think Shaw is obsolete? We’re sure it works, where and when do you want it?” The man on the other end of the line asked another question. This time Elizabeth was annoyed when she answered. “Yes, we are absolutely positive that it will turn people obsolete instantly. And no, unlike my father’s formula it won’t kill everyone that takes it. Everything that comes to pass naturally can be replicated in a lab, my father told you as much.” The man on the other end of the line gave an address.

“I will be there, you make sure the money is ready.” She said and hung up.

A few seconds later she dialled a different number. “East? It is Elizabeth Aksokov, I want out. Yes, I can sell you the uncut stuff, but it will need to happen the day after tomorrow.” There was a reply from the other end of the line.

“Excellent. I will see you then.”

⤊

Yesterday.

Under the cover of night about a dozen men and women wearing green scarves carried a tank towards Victoria’s water reservoir. Of course, the rich and powerful had their own reservoir, carefully guarded. The revolutionaries weren’t targeting them however.

A day, they had been told. A single day before the revolution would begin. When the veins of ninety percent of Mercia’s population turned black, the revolution would finally have its army. Karl smiled as the tank with liquid was emptied into the great basin of water. This was his destiny, this was what he was born to do. He would lead Victoria’s green soldiers from the gutters to the shiny city up above. First, he would destroy the Aksokov gang, then he would lead the masses of obsolete straight to city hall.

The ordained bureaucrats would either step down themselves or he would tear them down himself. If he was honest he would admit that he preferred the latter to the former. However, he was supposed to stand for justice and these days also democracy. When somebody had introduced the idea to him he had taken to it quickly. A government with elected officials, chosen from the people. It was wonderful, it was fair and as far as he was concerned it was the future.

“For justice, mercy and democracy!” He softly, but firmly whispered to the people around him, as they emptied the tank into the reservoir. “Justice, mercy and democracy!” They echoed back.

One day, and after it the world would never be the same.

⤊

I pace through the waiting room. The sun has been up for hours, I haven’t slept. I’m tired, but also restless. Jesse is still in surgery. I got news an hour or so ago. The prince has signed the peace treaty. Armes is now officially a vassal state of Mercia. The prince left for his country as quickly as he could. Apparently, he filed a formal complaint about me, something to do with prioritizing civilians over him. I couldn’t care less. The prince got a lot more than he bargained for, maybe it has shown him how dangerous this nation really is.

A door opens, a doctor comes through. He spots me and comes straight for me. His face is stony and expressionless, making it impossible to tell if he comes bearing good or ill news. “Mister de Winter?” He asks. I anxiously nod. “The patient suffered severe damage to her facial tissue. We weren’t able to restore most of the damage, there will be scars. Otherwise we believe she will make a full recovery.” I release my breath, which I apparently have been holding. My heart thumps in my chest. “Can I see her?” I ask.

“The patient will not be conscious for another three hours at least. The sedatives and blood loss are to blame for that. But, I understand you’re anxious to see your fiancé.” I don’t even bother setting the record straight on that one. I just want to see her.

A few minutes later I’m sitting next to her bed. She’s asleep, like the doctor told me, but it doesn’t matter because she is okay. She looks a bit like a mummy in the headwrap they have bound around her head to cover up the still healing wounds. I’m relieved, ashamed and angry, all at the same time. I brought her here, she was my responsibility, and I screwed it up. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but still. I should have known.

There is a knock on the door. I look up, there is a nurse standing in the door opening. “I’m sorry sir, I’m here to change her bandages.” I have no idea how long I’ve been in this room, but suddenly I feel a need to get some fresh air. “Anywhere I can smoke around here?” I ask. “Up on the roof, nobody will bother you there.” I mumble a thanks, and flee the room. I feel like a coward as I trudge up the steps towards the roof.

I step outside, through a metal door, into the fresh air. It is cold, there is snow lying on the roof, it is fresh, I’m not alone. Charles is leaning against the balustrade, smoking a cigarette of his own. To my surprise it is not him I’m angry at. Without his assassin Jesse would be dead now. I could blame him for dragging me into this mess here, but he couldn’t have known that I would involve Jesse.

“What is it with us and roofs of semi-public buildings?” Charles asks. His voice is mirthless, he sounds as tired as I feel. I lean next to him on the balustrade. There is a wall between us, one consisting out of six years and an eye. “Why me?” I ask, looking at him sideways. “Would you believe me if I said it was because I missed us?” I shake my head. “You’re not the sentimental type, you proved that when you tried to kill me six years ago.” Charles doesn’t answer. I wonder whether that is how he remembers the events of that day. I could ask, but I don’t.

“I went to see Moose a few days ago.” He suddenly comments. I grunt. “She was very happy to see me alive and well. Very angry as well.” I raise my eyebrows. “At whom?” He grins. “You, me, both? Who can say?”

“Do you remember Eli? How we used to talk about a better Mercia? Me drunk as shit, you high as a kite. You remember how we talked about getting rid of the ordinations?” I nod, I remember. “You were right Eli, this country, it is sick. It has been sick for a long time.” I look up, my eyes narrowing. “That sounds a lot like treason.” I say. Charles shrugs. “I’ve already committed multiple accounts of treason. As well as murder, terrorism and unlawful espionage. My sins are many in the eyes of the Mercian government, even though they aren’t aware of them.” I shift uncomfortably from my left to my right foot. “And in your own eyes?”

A shiver runs down Charles’ spine. “If I tell you that I still dream, every night, no matter how many pills I take or tonics I drink. Would that answer your question?” I nod. “The dreams never stop, but maybe it is a good thing. They remind us of what we’ve done. Maybe prevent us from the things we could do.” Charles takes a drag from his cigarette.

“We’re reaching the endgame. I would really like us to be on the same side.” I look away. “I can’t betray my country.” I say. “I can’t make you king, you know how I feel about those.” Charles shakes his head. “You’re thinking about the wrong game, I’m playing a much deeper one.”

“Then tell me, explain to me what the hell is going on Charles!” I all but scream at his face. Charles doesn’t flinch, his eyes cold and hard.

“It started six years ago, just after you put a bullet through my eye.” I listen as he tells me the story of his magical resurrection, the years he spent building the largest intelligence network Mercia had ever known, the scheming that was always present in the council of kings and how he helped govern the syndicate. Finally, he tells me about the revolution. At last the puzzle pieces fall into place. The syndicate funded the Armerian resistance to keep Mercia’s armies occupied on the mainland. As long as the armies were tied up there they couldn’t stop the revolution back home.

“But because of your intervention the armies will be returning shortly.” I muse. It is one of the things I can’t wrap my head around. The plan was solid, the broad lines I could have set out myself. Why did Charles sabotage it? If things were carried out according to plan he could have been governing the country within months. Charles smiles.

“You don’t see it, the deeper game, the parts within parts. Moose told me you wouldn’t.” I raise my eyebrows. “Are you done gloating?” Charles chuckles. “I have no intention of making my co-conspirators kings and queens. What we need is a competent council, not some idiot wearing a crown.” He released the smoke through his nose. “I’m taking them out Eli. The council first, then I will ban the ordinations. Only through merit will people rise, just like we talked about.”

“How will you get the power to do that?” I ask sceptically. Charles grins. “That is beauty of it, the council will give it to me.” I shake my head in disbelief. “They will never agree to it, you will be executed for treason the moment you suggest it.” Charles flicked his bud over the balustrade. “You let me worry about the council, I need you to do something else entirely.” He turns towards me, he offers me a gun, butt first. “I need you to kill the Queen of the East, the woman responsible for your girl’s hospitalization, Celestia Nightingale.”

I stare at the gun. “Moose is taking out the Queen of the South, she has returned to Kievan, to wait out the storm. The King of the West I will take out personally, I owe him that much. Nightingale remains. You’re the only one I trust to do this. We were always the best, we could be again.”

I take the gun, maybe out of sentiment, or anger, or perhaps shame, it doesn’t matter, I take it nonetheless. “For old times’ sake?” I ask.

“For old times’ sake.’