Page 5 of Anarchy Chained: Alpha Thomas

“Fine,” voice one says. “Let her loose.”

A motor whirrs to life and the table begins to slowly right itself. Blood rushes to my head as I become vertical. My body slides down the table with the force of gravity until the soles of my boots touch the floor and I am standing.

It takes a moment for my legs to remember what to do. But only a moment. The program in my head tells my muscles everything I need to know.

A door opens with a creak. “After you,” the female says. Footsteps as they leave. A second creaking of the door as it closes behind them.

Then the straps holding me tightly to the table retract.

“Sadie,” a scrambled voice says through a crackling intercom. “Take off your blinder.”

I reach up, pull the mask down my face, and open my eyes.

The room is nearly dark so my eyes can take a few seconds to adjust to light. I feel them focusing, my lenses opening and closing as they find the right aperture.

“Exit when you’re ready,” the scrambled voice commands.

I step away from the table, testing my legs. Giving them a few moments to remember what to do. They are a little achy, like they feel the need to stretch. Or run. Something more than stillness.

I take in the room and the word Exit overlays on my vision screen when I look at a door. There are several other doors in this room but the only one I’ll be able to pass through is the one marked Exit on my overlay.

I bend over and stretch since I’m unable to run. Touch my fingers to my toes, my forehead to my knees. I wrap my arms around my legs and force myself to stay there for a moment of relief. Perhaps even pleasure.

“Sadie,” the voice interrupts. “We’re on a deadline, sweetie. Please become ready now.”

I slowly uncurl from my stretch, take a deep breath, then crack my knuckles.

“Yes,” I say. “I’m ready.”

I proceed to the door, open it up, and step out into the tunnel. A map overlays my vision now. A path lit up in red, for my eyes only, telling me where to go.

I follow it down the dark, wet tunnel for a long time. Miles, at least. I want to run so bad, but there’s a command on my vision screen telling me to be cautious. Which means I shouldn’t. So I don’t.

After thirty-three minutes of wishing for something to change, the lighted path points to a metal ladder leading up to the surface. I climb up one level, but the path continues upward, so I ignore the people on that level as I pass through. The next level has no people, but I’m not supposed to stop, so I don’t. When I get to the tenth level the path leads me to a door.

The trains are loud here. Down below they were just a faint rumble. Now they shake the floor, the walls, me.

I’m in a small room with a single door with an actual lighted exit sign. There’s a keypad mounted on the wall. I don’t need to touch it or punch in a code. Everything is controlled by my handlers.

I pull on the handle and it opens. I step through into the D Street station. People see me, but I’m wearing a uniform that makes them think I work for the Cathedral City Transportation Department, so they look away, quickly losing interest.

I’m almost sorry I don’t attract more attention. My superpower has been dormant for so long, I’d like to let it loose. Take it out and see what it can do.

But the vision screen is still blinking be cautious at me.

So I don’t.

I walk past everyone, hit the stairs, and take them two at a time. The adrenaline is pumping through my body now, my muscles primed from the long climb back to the surface.

The world assaults me. The noise, the traffic, the people. But that assault doesn’t bother me. Nothing bothers me.

The compass on my vision screen points the way to the laundry facility so I walk that direction. I take in the smell of coffee shops, restaurants, exhaust fumes. I don’t know how people can live up here. I prefer the dark, wet underworld.

I keep going, leaving the tight city blocks behind until I’m in a more industrial area. I’m still wearing my quasi-uniform, which not-so-coincidentally looks a little bit like the uniforms the people at the laundry facility are wearing.

There is no guard at the front gate. Just a chain-linked fence—open to allow workers to enter—and dozens of people who look a little bit like me. A man looks at me, his eyes squinting as he tries to figure out who I am and what I’m doing there. But the caution sign on my vision screen is no longer blinking so I take the superpower out and give it a whirl.

“Jennifer?” he asks, walking towards me. The timer on my vision screen is counting up, letting me know how long I have for this interaction. I glance across the parking lot, find a woman’s face, and change the illusion. “Oh.” He laughs. “Sorry, Lisa.”