HERO

52 / Fading

"It's about time this den of rats was wiped out," said David. His grin was wide, but his eyes lacked the suggested mirth. Instead, they were dark, the pupils and irises almost blending together. "You've been allowed to roam free for long enough. And you've got a little gift for me too."

"I'm nobody's gift," spat Thomas.

"Forgive me, Thomas," said the Spotter jauntily. "You're right. You're not a gift."

He stepped forward. It was only a single step. A movement of the foot that would have been innocent at any other time or place. On this occasion, it was weighted with intent. With threat.

Thomas stood his ground, partly out of defiance and partly because he felt Bren tense and found himself effectively trapped.

"You're an aberration," David continued. "The Spot was created to prevent deviants like you from being let loose in the world. To protect our way of life. You'll come into your powers and you'll lose your mind and people will lose their lives. If it were up to me, you'd be put out of our misery the day after your 8th birthday. Dead. I mean, why wait?"

He flicked his wrist and the knife was suddenly gripped purposefully in his hand. It was long, with a narrow, serrated blade. Thomas looked from the Spotter to the weapon. He could see it was edged with drying blood. He forced himself to look back at David's face and keep eye contact.

"Not everyone gets their powers right on their birthday," Mand said, shocked. "You'd be killing kids who wouldn't actually be Nomads."

"Yes. Yes I would. Better that than wait and suffer the consequences of being too soft. What do you think will happen after these two years have passed and then the change happens? Two more years of development. Two more years of societal poison. He'll wreak havoc, and he'll take you lot with him."

Eddie and Mand looked at Thomas, both clearly wondering if the Spotters words were true. Eddie appeared to believe the man, though he didn't want to. Mand was unsure. Thomas was showing no signs of the typical Nomad madness. He seemed harmless. They felt the need to protect him. Even the traitorous Eddie, who was eyeing the seeming closeness of Thomas and Bren with envy.

"See, Thomas," said David. "They know the truth. They just don't want to be the ones to admit it. But that's OK, I'm here and can do it for them."

Bren heard the noise behind them again and looked back, making it appear as if she was searching for an escape.

"You have nowhere to go," David said.

He threw the knife upwards and everyone watched it cut gracefully through the air.

Everyone except Bren.

She reached back. Touched the broken mirror's glass. Touched the trapped reflection's hand. Felt herself being pulled in.

The knife hit the floor, its airborne journey forgotten by a fast acting Spotter who launched himself at the disappearing Bren and Thomas. Mand vanished from her spot next to Eddie, reappearing in a cowered crouch in front of the mirror piece. She drew her arms and legs in, protecting herself from the oncoming impact of the man. David had no chance to stop himself and he ran straight into the girl, knocking her over and tripping in the process.

His body slammed into the mirror, shattering it. Thomas and Bren were gone, as was Oscar's reflection. A faint laugh drifted through the air like breath from a mouth on a cold day, dissipating as soon as it had been heard.

David was on his feet and spinning on his heels to face the remaining children.

The room was empty.

The Spotter walked slowly to where his knife had dropped. He picked it up, straightened and arched his back, feeling his spine crack in protest. Resheathing the knife, he pulled open the trap door and started to climb down the ladder.

Then he stopped.

And climbed back into the room.

David walked over to the table against one wall. Pieces of mirror covered it in a scatter of glass that would have been almost artistic if it hadn't been in the room where his plans had been thwarted so easily. He brushed the slivers and slices aside, ignoring the odd pricks that drew spots of blood from his fingers.

He picked up a small screwdriver. Its flat headed tip was so small, David struggled to focus on it, as if it was blurred on purpose. The thought that he was maybe getting beyond his usefulness invaded his mind. He mentally stabbed at the intruder, chasing it away. Returning the screwdriver, he picked up the item that had caught his attention. A small box with a short aerial extending from its upper edge. There was a single, long button across the bottom and the rest of the surface was taken up by a screen.

He pressed the button and the screen lit brightly, then displayed a flashing blue dot in a three-dimensional wireframe building. David recognised the structure as Oscar's lair. He pressed the button again and the image on the screen zoomed out at a dizzying speed, moving rapidly across other buildings and parks and streets. Eventually, it slowed and moved in on a steady white dot.

David smiled.

Thomas.

He turned and descended through the trap door. He didn't see, in the three remaining fragments of mirror still large enough to contain Oscar's silver, the fixer watching him. David glanced up, his instincts telling him he was being spied upon, but could see no one. He didn't focus on the shards, seeing them as nothing more than a simple mirror that had been broken in battle or ire. If he had, and had done so carefully, he would have seen Oscar, faded to the point he was little more than a shade. A discolouration of the reflected room. By the time David was gone from the room, so was mirror-Oscar.

David knew the Fixer's ability. It wasn't something that was widely spoken about – Oscar's reputation was earned partly by the mystique that surrounded him – but to the Spotter, all knowledge was power. And so, he was a powerful man. A powerful, successful man. But, to such a man, a reprobate like Oscar, who used children to further his own means, was not worthy of his expanded attention. He was useful. He was allowed to operate. But other than that, he would be a nuisance.

David walked along the corridor, back to the room where they'd entered the den. He was watching the dot on the screen. It wasn't moving. Good.

In the room, the dust was still settling. There were fading mutters and cries of pain from injured or dying children. David avoided looking at Alex, locking away the image and the act in a mental box that he hid at the very back of his memory.

"We're going," he said as he stepped through the gaping hole in the wall.

None of his team raised a question. None hesitated. All stopped what they were doing, whether it be draining the delicious life force from a teenage boy or causing one to implode slowly enough for every bone's break to be heard in succession, creating a staccato of pain. All followed in silence.

Left behind, only one girl was still living. Her name was Freya. She was small for her age. Quiet. To a certain extent, meek. But her power, to make a person forget, was immense. She could erase a particular memory, such as being hurt or even meeting her, or she could wipe the entire brain clean of all experiences, encounters and identity.

Freya was alive, but barely. She could feel no recollections from those around her, so knew she was the last one left. She closed her eyes. This wasn't something she had tried on herself before. She hadn't dared. Now, it was all she had. She could see the long, thin needle sticking out from her abdomen. She could feel its poison burning.

In seconds, she didn't know what pain was. She'd forgotten. Freya was no longer Freya. Freya was gone. The wide eyed, girl, staring blankly around her trying to understand what she was seeing and who she might be, was no longer anyone.

As the last breath left her body, she smiled,though she had no idea what for.