Masked Read Free

in.
    “On it, boss,” he replied, just like old times.
    “Get in touch with Tan,” I directed to Alan. “Find out if he needs us.”
    This felt too damn familiar. And way too fucking thrilling for our own good.
    Once a rebel always a rebel.
    “That’ll be fun,” Alan murmured sarcastically as he leaned against the mirrored wall.
    “And me?” Paul asked with all the enthusiasm of a puppy.
    “Stocktake the armoury. I want to know how much protection we’ve actually got.”
    “Cool,” he enthused.
    “Keep this from Xiu Ying and the others,” I added for everyone’s sake. “I don’t want to get anyone too excited.” Chance would be a fine thing. Lena’s zebra-lookalike and her cohorts would be well aware what it meant to have fighter jets over Wánměi.
    I didn’t wait for a reply, just headed towards our apartment as soon as the lift door opened. This building was just like every other apartment block in Wánměi. Save for the upper floor. Instead of the standard twelve flats every other level had, it housed only eight. But they were special.
    Beneath the building was the usual array of cafés, restaurants, and the largest supermarket in the area. We were slap bang in the middle of residential Wánměi; a hub of activity and noise and distraction. Little did they know that thirty storeys above them lay eight remodelled apartments hiding a sophisticated tech-room, well stocked armoury and a self-contained safe-room.
    Rebel HQ. We called it home, but each one of us knew why we were here.
    Wánměi might be free, but freedom is costly.
    Even subconsciously we’d all agreed that this wasn’t over.
    And now fighter jets and masked Elite with laser guns. Alan had the right of it. Coincidence?
    I was thinking not.
    The apartment smelled of Lena. Vanilla and fresh blossoms. Cinnamon from breakfast earlier today. And coffee from my quick espresso before we’d headed out to the bar. It wasn’t as flash as her Parnell Rise home had been, but it didn’t lack for class. Lena had been raised around the finer things in life, but she’d surrounded herself with colour. And culture.
    One wall displayed a bright painting of Wáikěiton. Red paper lanterns dotted across a vibrant slash of gold and blue; Elliott Street, showing the crooked buildings and character-filled people and clamouring street vendors. Lena’s former Wáikěiton home, that had burned to the ground, was one of the buildings depicted. It had been the last place she’d felt close to her father.
    My eyes flicked across the open living space, over knick-knacks and trinkets, comfortable sofas and a sturdy, well worn dining table with a decorative orchid sitting on top, to the Shiloh unit that hung suspended inside the kitchen wall. A green light flashed in its upper right hand corner. Two quick bursts of light, a long gap, and then repeat. We had a message, but Lena hadn’t cleared it.
    Or even seen it, would be my guess.
    I climbed the spiral staircase that led to the mezzanine floor and our bedroom there, and then stepped through the open window out onto the roof.
    Lena sat under a potted travellers palm, on soft cushions designed to handle the heavy air; her eyes all for the city she loved and had sacrificed so much for. She didn’t stir as my boots hit the bitumen rooftop. Not a flicker of an eyelash or a soft inhale of air. She was statue still. A magnificent sculpture of brittle beauty.
    No. Lena wasn’t afraid.
    She was mad. Furious even. Livid.
    I’d never thought her more irresistible as I did right then.

Three

Words Weren’t Needed
Trent
    R ain hung in the air , storm clouds blotted out the stars on the horizon. But Wánměi lit up the night sky like a beacon. The glow of all that illumination reflected in Lena’s eyes, off her pale face. She’d removed her hood and let her hair fall down again. No longer striped like a zebra - she’d given that up when the fickle fashion trends had changed, making her stand out more easily than ever -