Page 100 of Remnants: Disruption
“There has been enough death today, you freaks,” Morgana finally says, her voice almost shrill with anger that I’m not conceited enough to believe is for my benefit.
“Yes, there has,” Mary finally says. She sounds exhausted. “We shall wait for the other archons to join us before beginning. Do see that you behave yourselves.”
And with that, she gets up and disappears down the stairs on the other side of the balcony. Somewhere further into the Cradle’s depths.
“Why are you so desperate to save this one’s life?” Loki asks, jabbing a thumb in my direction, but directing the question at Morgana.
“You couldn’t even wait forty seconds before starting something, eh?” Morgana shoots back, a soft, red light dancing in her eyes.
It takes me a moment to realize the red is coming from her, not any of the few braziers that light the room.
“I simply know the stakes. We cannot afford something jeopardizing what little progress we’ve made,” Loki sneers, sounding like a petulant child.
Whatever Morgana was going to say is cut off by more voices from the dark stairwell. Loki doesn’t even look at me as he settles back into his chair. He crosses one leg over the other like he hadn’t just advocated for my execution.
None of the other council members look my way as twenty-one humanoids file into the small space at the center. Some of them are clearly supernatural—at least six of them some sort of were-creature. There’s a dozen that might be Remnants or simply well-hidden supernaturals, and three that would pass for regular humans. Except being here means they’re anything but.
The chatter seems to hit a crescendo before silencing like a doused flame. I turn to my left again and see Mary retaking her seat. She doesn’t even glance my way.
I’d be pissed if I didn’t already expect it. Hell, last night was probably just a damned hallucination made up by my mind to cope with the ghostly assaults.
Of course, my imagined knight in shining armor is Bloody fucking Mary.
“In the last twenty-four hours, it has become increasingly clear that Damien Roberts is directly in league with Darkrend. With the weapon and media technology in their possession, they have the capability to commit any number of atrocities and spin the narrative exactly how they please.”
Her exhausted tone and body language are gone. Instead, there’s a fire glowing in the orange irises. And I can’t help but stare right at them as she speaks.
Why shouldn’t I? Not like she’ll look this way anyways.
“In the next hour, reports will come in of a terrorist attack at a downtown New Chicagoan shopping center. The NCPD cohort says they will be blaming the attack on myself and several other Remnants associated with Tempest.”
This time, Mary’s orange irises sweep further past Loki and seem to land on Azazel.
And then me.
She returns her gaze to the general audience before gesturing to the far wall behind everyone.
“We have the raw footage, though. In part because of Guild informants placing scouts in the region.”
Without warning, the far wall snaps to a fairly high-resolution video playback. I glance at the wall behind me and don’t see a projector. And I swear there hadn’t been a screen on the other wall a moment ago.
I focus on the screen again and nearly let out a shriek. I manage to clamp both hands over my mouth and watch as an explosion rock Arthur’s Bookstore.
Screaming echoes from wherever the footage is taken from—maybe the building beside the one I use as a perch. And several figures in black outfits move in on the wreckage.
Somehow, the bookstore looks intact enough, but there’s smoke and licks of flame coming from somewhere within the building.
The camera zooms in on the darkly clad figures as they emerge from the store, each of the six holding patrons by the wrists or arms.
“Oh my God,” I hiss, and can’t give a fuck at the several sideways glares I get. I don’t even glance to see if Mary heard me.
Alice’s tiny form is held loosely in the meaty grip of some freakishly large thug. The guy is almost Titan’s size with glowing green eyes emanating from the mask over his head.
A crowd has gathered around the small group of terrorists, but no one intervenes as the furthest one from Alice’s captor steps forward.
With how far away the camera operator is, there’s no way to tell what the man says, but he draws a dagger and plunges it into the chest of the man in his hands.
My heart thuds roughly as the body hits the pavement.
