Page 119 of Tapeworld Induction

“We’re headed to Elodie’s, now that you got rid of the drones,” Sacha shouted from the front. “She’ll know what to do.”

“Sure…” All breath had left her lungs.

They drove through London’s neighbourhoods, trading the posh roads of the West End for the commercial and hip districts of East London. Their route gave her a view of Tower Bridge, its royal decorations fallen into disrepair after the former King was deposed by the Twin Queens of the Tech Kingdoms. Her heart tugged, the danger of the situation coming to a head for her.

“Time I meet your patron saint of tape, Isaak.”

As they drove past the hip, renovated buildings done up with palm trees, and the high-rises in the distance with exposed red-brick walls, the preserved aesthetic from before the Dark Year and the boutique custom goods shops, Dylan knew they were getting close.

It was the middle of the night.

“We’re here.” Sacha’s voice was broken. “I’ll buzz Elo.” All the energy and nervous excitement she’d known him for had completely drained from him. He drove up a ramp into the parking garage of the Royal Car Wash, a derelict ten-storey building.

The interior looked no better than the outside. Some of the graffiti was interesting and visually appealing, and there were plenty of Apocalypse Revolt logos. Old layers of art covered with more layers of graffiti and scratchings, subsumed over time by a heavy coat of dust and grime.

As the van turned a tight corner around several poorly placed columns, Dylan spotted a woman waiting for them. Her hair was a neon-green buzz cut, and she was wearing a transparent-blue Mackintosh jacket and piss-yellow jogging bottoms. Her shoes, chunky Skechers, were white with a peeling line of red plastic. A sight to behold.

Sacha pulled up in front of her and got out of the car. Elodie met her at the sliding door. Isaak was conscious again but too winded to talk or walk by himself. His eyes darted from Elodie to Dylan, and he was wheezing.

“So we finally meet?” Elodie said, smiling at her. “Just a couple of weeks ago Isaak was here asking me for some more tape.” Her voice was grating, with just enough of a French accent to betray her background. Closer up, she looked like she was in her late thirties. She put out her hand to shake Dylan’s.

Dylan shook it and climbed out of the cab, using Elodie to stabilise herself.

“How is the man of the hour?” Elodie asked.

Talia was sitting right there, strapped to the Sleeper. It felt like an insult that Elodie only cared about Isaak, when all four of them had risked their lives.

Sacha stood to the side, arms crossed, letting Dylan take the lead.

“He’s… getting there.” She frowned. “But Talia is—”

“Ah, yes… Astrid’s Crypterra Sleeper.” She examined Talia, from top to bottom, as if she might be able to come to some diagnosis that way alone. She turned to Dylan, and the look in her eyes turned Dylan’s blood cold. “I am sorry. We’ll do all we can. Sacha, help my boys. Come on, Miss Colt.”

“What? What’s going on?” Dylan asked, looking back as Elodie pulled her away. Two men dressed in black with similar PVC Mackintosh coats went into the van and wheeled Isaak out with Sacha’s help. She tried to struggle away towards him.

Elodie held her in place, sharp fingernails poking her arm. “It’s fine, Miss Colt. It really is. They’ll bring Isaak and your friend to us.”

Who was this woman, ordering Sacha around like a servant? Dylan tried again to escape her grip but Elodie’s bones were like titanium. No budge, no give. She led her towards a lift, large and metallic, stickered and graffitied to the high hells.

“Isaak never mentioned you had… associates.” She glanced again at the men busying themselves around the black cab.

“That would be because he didn’t know,” Elodie said, her eyes dead ahead.

“You were using him…” Dylan said. “Just like Astrid was.”

Elodie tutted, pulling her into the lift. “Not at all. I empowered him.” She clicked the button to go up. The doors shut with only the two of them inside. “He was lost. And in the beginning, when the Tapeworld made its way to me, so was I. Then Astrid sent him to me.” She looked out through the small glass window, little glimpses into London visible between spray-painted rough walls as the lift made its ascent.

“What is she to you?” Dylan asked, fed up of these women trying to control her and Isaak.

Elodie blinked and looked at her, marvelling at the wonderment posed by such question. “Sometimes I wish I knew. I thought we were friends, but… Until Isaak showed up at my door with the rolls of tape… I’ve already said too much.”

Elodie went tight-lipped. In the silence, Dylan realised how quiet the lift was, far too high-tech for a building with this state of outward disrepair. Nothing was what it seemed.

Dylan thought of him. Of his pink-brown lips. “What are those guys doing to him?” she asked, Elodie’s sudden silence making her anxious.

“They’re just bringing him up.” She smiled. “The stretchers wouldn’t fit in here.” Then she leaned nearer to Dylan. “We’re not bad people, dear.”

Dylan shrugged. “Don’t call me ‘dear’.”