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The Link

By N. R. Angus All Rights Reserved ©

Adventure / Scifi


Fifteen-year-old Declan Gritte is a Link – an evolved Human who has extraordinary powers. In the far future, his kind has been feared and hunted by Tats – Humans who wear a neurochemical tattoo that dampens and prevents anyone from gaining any powers whatsoever. The Tats protect themselves in heavily guarded Link resistant walled up cities across the globe. Given an impossible task by his father, Declan has to persuade T.W.G. (The Worlds Government) that not all Links are as dangerous as they once thought. But the task in question is not without risks...

Chapter 1 - Breakout

London would always darken itself at night in order to conserve energy. Cities, towns and villages across the globe perform the same procedure. This was to keep the Containment Grid’s that enclosed all manner of civilization functioning.

Containment Grid’s across the globe were the only means of protection Humanity had from the monstrous beings that lived outside their walls: Links.

In recent weeks, the London government of T.W.G. had become somewhat fearful due to the increase of Links. The government of London resorted to rationing electricity to power the Grid to its full height.

The civilians of London were not extremely jovial of this. However, they wanted nothing more than to be safe and allowed the government to proceed; they did not want to wake up the next morning with Links surging through the city causing chaos.

With the city now encompassed in darkness, the prison ship Roctod – only thirty minutes out from London – began its descent as it approached Battersea PowerStation.

The pilots brought the ship in line, conversing with the control tower that guided them into the pitch-blackness that was London.

In other parts of the ships metallic structure, a manifesto of two hundred Links were on board, all taken to be circumcised – a fancy term Humans use to strip Links of their special gifts.

Deep within the bowls of this ship is a corridor. Within this corridor are twenty cells all containing Links. Each Link was suspended upside down with electromagnetic clamps fastened around their ankles, wrists and neck. These clamps were shock collars.

Should a Link become not only aggressive, but attempt to use their powers, the clamps would pull at their limbs or administer an acid that would slightly burn the inside of their skin.

Though a cruel form of torture, it was the only effective method of preventing the Links from using their powers.

Cries and moans flowed out from the cells and into the corridor as Links endured this inhumane torture.

A prison guard walked down the length of the corridor whistling a tune as he passed each cell. Carrying an electrical prod stick and stun gun with heavy black padded and Link resistant clothing, he looked like any normal guard.

However, casting a look upon his face gave him a distressing feature. Tattooed across his face was the image of a Python. Those who cast their gaze upon him – Links especially – always viewed him as sinister. Everyone called him Python Face.

As Python Face walked past the cells, Links pleaded for him to release them.

Shut up!” he spat at the Links using his prod stick to make sparks fly.

Links spat and hissed at him. Some throwing him the occasional death threat.

“Ya so gonna burn in Hell for what ya about ta do!” one Link said in a high American accent.

“If I get out of here, I’m going to enjoy acidifying you!” hissed another.

“Ever heard of a Black Widow, they eat their pray you know? Usually the men and I’m going to relish the thought of eating you first!” a female Link said licking her lips.

Python Face ignored them all.

He enjoyed his job that entailed tormenting Links. He despised them all. He cared not about what happened to them.

At the far end of the corridor, another guard came to check on him. Python Face nodded at the guard who then left.

Amongst the shouting of the Links, the anguished moaning of one Link caught the guards’ attention. Peering into the cell, he saw a Link hanging upside down, his face contorted.

“What’s the matter with you?” Python Face rudely asked.

“I n-need...to b-bleed the...lizard!” strained the Link in a strong Australian accent.

“What?” asked the guard confused.

“I got a b-blockage that needs d-draining!” replied the Link. Python Face looked at the prisoner bewildered. “I need to take a p-piss!” the Link said seething as the restraints holding him upside down in mid-air pulled at his arms and legs by a fraction of his movement.

The guard chuckled. “Looks like you’re going to have to wet yourself, because I’m not letting you out.”

The Link sighed. “Right you are mate, don’t b-blame me if the whole ship s-stinks of piss a-after-w-wards, you’ll be disin-f-fecting this ship for w-weeks.” smirked the Link trying to hold his urine in.

“Not my problem.” Python Face said passing the Link and resuming his duties.

Captain Edward Miller had flown the same prison ship - The Roctod - in and out of London for over the last thirty years. He could navigate the controls with his eyes closed if need be. He was an elderly man moving into his late sixties. He had met his fair share of hostile takeovers, but always he survived. The Roctod was used mainly to transport felons and murderers, for him, it was a first to transport Links to be circumcised.

He was not alone on this flight, situated to the seat on his right sat Co-Pilot Wes Green. He was in his late twenties and had not been flying that long; this was his first flight with Captain Miller.

It was a quiet and calm night for both men, and Wes was hoping for it to remain so right up to the point of landing.

Now deep within the darkened city that looked nothing more than an endless void, Captain Miller switched the view screen to night mode. An ominous green glow cast itself upon both men making them look ill.

Only twenty minutes left to land was when they received their first mishap in their journey. The radio seemed to cut out and neither could get through to Battersea PowerStation.

“Battersea PowerStation do we have permission to land?” the Captain asked through his radio headset. He repeated these exact words several times only to receive no reply. “Battersea PowerStation we are twenty minutes out, do we have permission to land?” Captain Miller tuned the radio to all channels, no response.

Co-Pilot Green attempted to radio through on his end, he also got no reply.

“I think we may have a problem.” The Captain said aloud.

“Should we circle around?”

“We may have to.” Captain Miller told him. “I will try one more time, if we don’t get a response, go around and we can try again.”

The Co-Pilot nodded.

The Captain retried his attempt to contact Battersea PowerStation, yet again to receive no response. “Radio transmitter must be malfunctioning.” He said.

“It’s not malfunctioning; we have disabled your communications array.” A soft, cold male voice said from behind. There was someone within the shadows of the cockpit. “Don’t turn around!” the voice said keeping it even.

The Co-Pilot reached for the distress beacon. As he stretched, his hand flew back into his face.

“I would advise that you both just don’t move, we don’t want any sudden...accidents, do we?” whispered the man in the shadows.

The Captain held his nerve; though he had met his fair share of hostage takeovers, this takeover would be a first for him from the moment he realized what he was up against.

For Co-Pilot Green, this would be his first hostage takeover. His training had failed him on what to do with hostage takeovers. Not knowing what to do in this circumstance, he relied on Captain Miller.

“The cockpit is sealed and locked and can only be opened by the Captain and the Co-Pilot. The only way in is through voice control, there is no lock pick; a Human would need an atomic bomb to open that door. The only way you could have gotten through that thick door would be through Folding. This leads me to believe that you are a Link.” Deduced the Captain.

A slow clap came from behind the two men. “A rather damaged one at that.” The Link replied. He stepped forth from the shadows; the green light from the view screen cast its glow over the Links face. He appeared injured, his right arm seemed stiff and the right side of his face held a series of scars as if someone had clawed at him. He carried no weapon.

“What kind of Link are you?” the Captain asked engaging in conversation. He saw himself flying face first into the console and back upright into his chair. An invisible force pushed against his chest, squeezing the air out of him.

“Teleportation is not one of my gifts, holding onto one who can Fold takes a lot out of you, so I am told. One of my gifts is that I can create G-forces, no matter how small or large.” The Link explained. “I can even manipulate the G-forces around us. If I concentrate hard enough, I could rip this ship apart.”

“You wouldn’t do that!” said the Co-Pilot startled.

“Sadly no, I have orders not to.” A hint of indignation in his voice.

“Orders?” The Co-Pilot questioned.

The Link moved his emerald eyes and set them onto the Co-Pilot. “I am not alone; my fellow Links are here to free my fellow brethren’s. Now, I think it’s time we turned this ship around.” The Link said.

The Link released Captain Miller from his crushing G-force stronghold. Catching his breath, the Captain took hold of the joystick and began manoeuvring the ship away from London.

Python Face could feel the ship bank sharply to the left, his instincts kicked in telling him that something was amiss. Usually he could feel the descent as they moved into London. He knew something was up.

“Is there s-something the m-matter, mate?” the Australian Link asked to which the guard told the Link to hold his tongue.

Python Face walked to the end of the corridor and grabbed the staff phone that linked directly to the cockpit. The instant he placed the receiving end to his ear, he heard no dial tone. He hung up the phone and tried again, even speaking into the receiver. “Base Bay to Miller, come in!”

Rushing into view came another guard whose face was tattooed in the form of a black spider’s web; he too sensed that something was amiss.

“Head to the cockpit and find out what’s going on!” Ordered Python Face.

Cobweb Face nodded.

Fearing the worse, Python Face began to check all the cells, making sure all locks were sealed properly and that no Link had the opportunity to escape.

Whilst he checked, he noticed that Cobweb Face had not moved from the same spot since he walked into view.

“I thought I told you to go check the cockpit!”

Cobweb Face did not move, but the shaking of his uncontrollable hands caught Python Face’s attention.

“What’s wrong with you?”

In the quickest move, Cobweb Face’s head jerked to the right with a crunch! Jumping back, Python Face reached for his stun gun.

The now deceased Cobweb Face fell to the floor and standing over his lifeless body was a woman, her arm outstretched and finger pointing upwards.

The instant that Python Face set his eyes upon the woman, an uncontrollable urge of lust made him fall head over heels for her. Eloquently beautiful with blue sparkling eyes, red kissable lips and silk blond hair that swayed like a cloak in the breeze, Python Face fought the urge to resist her beauty.

“Put that gun down sweetheart, you might hurt someone.” She sang.

“Don’t move, I know what you are, you filth!” spat the guard aiming his stun gun directly at her face.

The woman looked hurt and if Python Face was not mistaken, it looked as if the woman wanted to cry but held back the tears.

“Don’t you like me?” she whimpered.

“No, I despise beings like you!” he said with disgust.

The woman, though hurt by his words, shed a tear.

“This is Base Bay; we have a situation!” Python Face spoke into his radio; he received white noise in return.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind Python Face. “Is that any way to treat a lady?” a callous voice said. “I don’t take kindly to men pointing a gun at my sister. Nor do I appreciate men – or women – hurting her feelings.”

Walking into view, Python Face could have sworn he was seeing double, the man was an exact carbon copy of the woman in front of him, only in male form, same colour hair, same colour eyes. He didn’t look buff or muscle built, but there was something about this male look-a-like that made Python Face cringe.

“Oh, you made my sister cry.” He turned to the guard. “That won’t do.”

The man walked up to the guard.

Without any hesitation, Python Face shot at the brother. The electrical pins struck him squarely in the chest. Before Python Face could stun him, the brother ripped the spikes out from his chest.

In less than two strides, the brother was face to face with the guard.

“Y’know what I don’t understand about you Tats? You worry more about us Links than you do the natural things in life. You may have resisted my sister who has the ability of a Siren’s beauty, with slight telekinesis thrown in,” he held up his hands revealing them to be covered with black leather gloves. He pulled one of the gloves off. “Let’s see how you fare with my powers!” he hissed.

Python Face grabbed his prod stick. Before he could use it, the man brought his finger to the right side of the guards’ temple.

The right side of Python Faces’ face dropped. His right arm that held the prod stick lost all its feeling and fell to the floor.

“Wh-Wha-What...” Python Face tried to speak, but his speech became slurred.

Sighing heavily and reapplying the glove, the brother explained to the crippled guard his powers. “One touch from me brings about a stroke.”

Python Face clattered to the floor where he attempted to crawl for help. It was useless.

“You Tats worry about the kind of gifts you might receive, imagine how it must feel to have a gift in which you can bring about an illness that cannot be cured!” The brother found it difficult to speak about his powers; his callous voice even broke under strain.

His sister walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s finish what we came here to do.” The sister said. The brother nodded.

Raising her hands and clasping them together, each cell opened with sparks flying from the locks. The magnetic clamps and shock collars loosened and clattered to the floor freeing the Links.

One by one, each Link emerged.

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