Sector 2

Chapter 11

I sat atop the roof of a nearby modern white adobe, gun in hand. Waiting and waiting – it was 11:45am. The platform which accessed the cable car to the pyramid was in my view, a mere hundred feet ahead of me. The rest of the Sector was awake, as were the people residing in the adobe. I could hear the muffled chink of cutlery underneath me.

Checking the time on my phone became a hobby, doing it probably every thirty seconds. A bird swooped down to the edge of the rooftop, jerking its small head in different directions before following its previous path to the ground. After a few more similarly shaped shadows grazed my head, I watched the cable car approach the platform, then depart. Standing up, I pulled my gun out from the holster and pointed the gun at the machine before dispatching the grapple. I was swept off the roof and started plummeting towards the ground before being lifted into the air. Pulling a second trigger, I ascended towards the start of the line, and clambered on top of the spherical vehicle without releasing the hook.

I clung to the grip of the cable car and my hair whipped back amidst the strong winds of these great heights. I didn't bother keeping my hood over my head; there was no one to hide from. Squinting, I raised my head as I neared the glide upon which sat the pyramid. Majestic yet simple, the modern structure gleamed in the sunlight, sparkling like diamonds. The palm trees swayed beside it, and the bushes rustled in the wind. I hopped off the cable car and walked towards the entrance. I inhaled before mustering the will to open the door. The groan of the door droned on as I stepped forward.

I'm not sure what I expected, but it was completely deserted. In response to my confusion, my phone buzzed, and I received a text from the same anonymous number saying: We're downstairs. There's a downstairs?

Another buzz: Behind the front desk.

I put my phone in my pocket and heeded the directions of the incognito texter. I walked around the edge of the lengthy desk and inspected the wall behind it. In fact, directly in the middle, there was the slightest line of indentation which revealed the outline of an opening. Before I could even attempt to open it, the door shifted away from me, then to the side. Irritatingly, the room I peered into had no light except for the block of white light at the end of a small flight of metal stairs, partially blocked by my own shadow.

Walking into a dark room as per my parents' request wasn't ideal, but if it meant getting Jon back, I had no choice. I descended, bracing myself for any unwanted action. It was eerily quiet; one of those alarms would be excruciating for me at this moment.

I half-expected the door to ominously shut behind me when I reached the concrete bottom, but reality saved me from it. The unpleasant odour of dust and burning metal filled my nose and it felt at least five degrees colder. I felt isolated within these inches of light; it felt like my limbo made reality.

The darkness was soon penetrated as a lightbulb a few feet ahead of me was switched on. The figure of my father came into view, standing beside my mother who refused to make eye contact with me. I met the stern gaze of my father, his beady eyes dark as raven feathers, boring into my skin.

"Where is he?" I asked a question, but it sounded more like a demand. An order.

A few more piercingly white lights turned on around me, putting the rest of the room on display. But my eyes were drawn straight to Jon. He looked horrible. Defined circles had rested underneath his joyless eyes, stark and unfocused. His hair was dishevelled. Still tied back in a ponytail, but with strands matted and slipping out of the hair tie, if not already. He was also slouching, seemingly leaning on Lexie for support, who stood beside him with a leering glint in her mischievous eyes.

It took a few seconds for Jon to sluggishly look up and see me and my wary expression.

"Ai," he uttered, lazily trotting to me. His voice was hoarse and ragged, cutting like knives through my mentality. He had been screaming. A lot.

He almost fell on me, but rebalanced himself and began stroking my hair, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. "You're okay. I'm so glad you're okay." he whispered. His hand movements were jagged and unsteady against my hair. They were shaking.

For both our sakes, I mustered the energy to embrace him, my head prying over his curved back. I finally got my chance to see the rest of the room. The walls were concrete, just like the floor. In one corner of the room lay a metal desk with a computer that jutted out of papers and books etched with countless notes. Next to Fǔqīn was a makeshift chest of movable drawers and large folder-like book with fraying edges placed on top. On the left of me, there sat a single uncomfortable-looking hospital bed. On this hospital bed, there were thick leather straps where the hands and feet were meant to be, and dried blood trickled down the sides of the hospital bed.

I glanced back at Fǔqīn; a look of absolute revulsion plastered across my face. "Tell me that's not his," loathing seethed through my teeth, "tell me that's not his blood."

Jon let go of me and straightened his back – at least, more than it was before. My father only narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth rising a miniscule amount. He rested one hand upon the pages of the thick book which was upon the drawers. "Ai, Ai, Ai," mused Fǔqīn, "I thought we taught you that your actions have consequences. My little crow wasn't coming back to her nest, so I stole her dove and played with his heart a little. I suggest you lift his shirt."

I turned to Jon, staring up at him incredulously. He avoided eye contact. I reached to the bottom of Jon's paled yellow shirt, fingers touching the seam. I don't know where he got the shirt from, but I knew it wasn't his. I glanced at Jon's evading eyes one more time before gently lifting his shirt.

I glimpsed at fractions of it as I raised the shirt, but the more I saw, the more I regretted listening to Fǔqīn.

It was only a few wires at first, until I revealed the whole thing. In the middle of his chest – where his heart was supposed to be – there lay a deep depression. Hidden under the countless wires lining the sides of it was a barely visible shiny black alloy. These wires snaked and stretched out from the cavity like veins of red, blue, and black. The wires ended at different places of his torso, where they burrowed into his skin. My throat wouldn't allow me to speak. It was clogged with shock and dread.

I heard a thud and turned to Fǔqīn, who had just placed a glass container atop the thick book. Inside was a gruesome thing; red and bloody, veiny and lumpy.

My heart dropped as I realised Jon's was sprawled across the bottom of that container.

"It's incredible how much technology has developed over the years," I heard Fǔqīn say, "Humans living without hearts? It's astounding, no?"

I couldn't break my gaze away from the glass box.

It's ironic, really. They stole Jon's greatest trait.

Fǔqīn rambled on, "We had the experiment planned a while ago, but couldn't find a formidable subject. We found children were a lot more... sensitive when it came to this one."

I think Fǔqīn wanted me to say something, but I certainly didn't. In response to my defiance, he sighed and took a step towards me. In the moment, he seemed to tower over me. I kept staring at Jon's heart as he continued: "If you'd like, we could do a whole lot worse," in my peripheral, I saw his expression switch from exhilarated to sombre. "I just need you to come home." Such a phrase should be spoken with longing and a twinge of melancholy, yet I heard it was malice and vice.

"No," I said, "you can't do worse." I looked up, enraged. "Because we're getting the hell out of here. Don't you dare touch Jon again or I will kill you myself."

I turned back to Jon, face falling after finally processing exactly what happened to him. I lent him my arm and started leading him up the stairs. My free hand hovered over my gun, waiting for any sudden movements to take place behind us. I was so ready to shoot; any hesitation to violence I had previously developed escaped my body, eager to spill blood. Jon's eyes had lost all the light they once held – he might as well have been a walking corpse. A shell of the Jon I once knew. All I could do was pray he'd lighten up after a shower, but I knew full-well that's not how the mind takes trauma.

"Then I humbly apologise for this, Ai," Fǔqīn said.

I craned my neck and looked down at the scene. Lexie stood to the side, relaxed, and smiling callously. Mǔqīn stood by the glass container holding Jon's heart, eyes unmoving from the floor. Meanwhile, Fǔqīn had found a place behind the computer in the back. For a split second, he made eye contact with me before pressing a single key on the keyboard.

Then Jon seized my throat.