March City: Rebellion of the Gifted [Book 2 | Complete | Fantasy/Sci-fi]

Chapter 28: Death of the Transformer

Footsteps thundered outside. Even before they kicked the sliding door — and failed to make it open, and then grudgingly slid their pass on it — Rale had a niggling feeling he was in deep trouble. In his fascination with unearthing past information about the Candra leaders, and enjoying being in his element of digging dirt once more, he was careless. He knew the layout of the security system in March City well and figured it wouldn't be much different in Candra. He hadn't counted on the human factor — that was, the surveillance tapes actually had human eyes glancing over it. Programs would take in what was on his screens and analyse that; humans caught his subtle, shifty movements and homed in on it.

Rale sighed at the sight of four burly soldiers stomping in, weapons raised at him. He slipped his phone out of the connecting site and slid it into his pocket before lifting his hands. Combat was possibly his worst attribute — and there was no way he could talk his way out with people like these, either. One of the soldiers had flaming orange hair. Rale did a double-take, vaguely recognising him.

"The leaders want to see you," barked the nearest one, spraying saliva at him.

"Why, I'm honoured."

Two moved behind him and jabbed him in the spine, making him stumble and wince.

"Move it, now!"

They sandwiched him and escorted him in silence. Rale's heart drummed in his ribs, but he kept his face as Lira-like as possible. He had no weapons on him — not that he was anywhere near proficient with one. He had no method of contacting the others. He couldn't fight his way out of a one-on-one even if his life depended on it and he had little leverage, so unless the Transformer or the Dancer thought of a bright idea, this slip up might be it for him.

The soldiers shoved him into the hall and then stood guard behind him. Huddling together and speaking in hushed whispers were the four great leaders of Candra. It gave Rale some sense of satisfaction to see Michael's arrogant face seeming unnerved. Jenny Allan merely seemed upset, turning to Rale at the sound of his footsteps. The cold tips of the guns still poked into his spine.

"I expect you know why you're here, boy," said Michael in a nasty voice, lips curling.

"I don't, Prime Minister. Perhaps you can enlighten me," said Rale, hitching on an irritating voice.

"We gave you the task to help us restore data for survival, and instead you snoop into classified areas!"

"I like to know my clients if you know what I mean. And, I have to say, do people know this about you? There's a lot of interesting stuff in the archives. About you. About Camila Martinez. About Sofia."

Michael's face turned black as thunder. Sofia turned to her father, confused.

"About Ma? What's this about, Dad?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. This little test tube shitbag is just shit-stirring."

"Oh, really?" Rale's eyes narrowed. The more people became aggressive and defensive with simple questions, the more they make his intuition tingle, and the more information he reaped. "What about the time when you said you had nothing to do with Camila Martinez's assassination and blamed it on the opposite political party? Or when you used her death to swing pity votes your way to become the leader?"

"You don't know shit about what you're talking about, kid," Michael growled, his face turning crimson. Rale snickered.

"Or when there were further investigations into your claims that it was the other party's work, only for them to find out you might have been the one to pay the assassins? And with all the controversy, you had to step down after only two years, the shortest-serving term as prime minister?"