Subject A250: The Fallen

Twenty-Eight: PALace

Trace did not know who'd come up with the term 'palace', but she sure didn't see any crank princes or princesses wandering by when she walked through the gates. Ahead of her was a cluttered street, with makeshift houses and rickety shacks lining its edges like the strangest runway show she'd ever seen. The shelters were clustered in places, like small communities, but each community kept its distance from the next. Some of the structures sat alone, away from anyone else altogether. She could see eyes peering out of one of the closest ones, watching the newcomers, glancing between each of them as though they might attack.

The guards led the way along the road, heading towards an intersection ahead. Trace could hear shouting in the distance. People were cheering and calling out. Some of them appearing to be celebrating, while others screamed out in fear. Whatever the noise was about, it definitely involved absolute chaos.

"What's going on?" Thomas asked, glancing between the road ahead and their not-so-friendly tour guides.

The closest guard barked a laugh. "Cranks. That's what's going on. This place gets worse and worse every day. You kids are in for a treat."

"Just keep us away from them and you'll get your money," Jorge grunted. His gaze shifted from side to side, as if somebody might just reach out and grab him at a moment's notice. Trace felt much the same.

"Yeah, yeah, we hear ya."

Thomas started up on his routine, asking questions about the facility and its downfall. Apparently guards and other workers had been going missing.

The Right Arm, Trace's mind told her. She shared a look with Brenda, who nodded, assuming the same thing.

So that was playing out the way it had in the book. Interesting.

Her eyes scanned the decrepit buildings and shelters around her, searching for some sign of hope-- some way that they might be able to save Newt. Nothing. Trace glanced at Brenda again, but the girl was listening to what the guards had to say.

They came to a stop a few blocks from the palace centre, tucked behind a battered excuse-for-a-house.

"Wait here," the guards ordered. "Stay out of sight."

Then they were gone, disappearing into the crowd ahead. Suddenly Trace felt very exposed. The sound from the centre got louder --more chaotic-- as they waited, and she wondered if the guards would even come back alive.

"Hey."

She turned to see Brenda standing behind her, waiting expectantly. The boys were standing in a group, discussing the situation at hand. It was the perfect opportunity to talk to Brenda.

"Hey," Trace replied, after a moment's deliberation. "What's the point in this? He's just going to tell us to leave-- we know that, right? Why are we torturing ourselves?"

Brenda shook her head quickly and gave Trace a knowing look. A dangerous look. "I've got a plan," she announced.

A plan? Without even having heard it yet, Trace was intrigued.

A flicker of hope danced in Brenda's eyes. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small tube, holding it at waist level, so that only she and Trace could see it.

As she looked, her heart pounded a little faster, and her body warmed with the rush of adrenaline; the red liquid sloshed around inside the tube as Brenda tilted it to the side, showing Trace its contents.

"Blood?" Trace muttered. "Is it...?"

Brenda nodded. "Thomas'. I got Hans to collect some. It's worth a shot, right?"