Hope & Fury (Heroes & Demons Book 2)

Rick didn’t return home straight away that night with the others. Andrew headed off for the memorial with Ruth and Louise – they had been the chosen few after all. Sandy’s absence would be easily explained by her prickly attitude at the best of times, which gave her and Angel (who the majority of the employees still didn’t know existed) plenty of time to move Cyvus into their Home Base. Rick’s absence was even more easily explainable – he was a prick. Or at least held the reputation for being a prick through a carefully cultivated series of encounters with some of the few employees who had to visit Ruth out of absolute necessity at Home Base.

Instead, he’d gone to a bar, thankfully having kept a spare change of clothes in the van. O’Malley’s was a place for waifs and strays but even the surly bartender/owner would have a few words to say about a man in a BioSuit waltzing through the door. He was even surlier when ComicCon was in town and his tirade at the X-Hen Party had become the stuff of legend.

The place was the usual – nearly empty, grim and only had one good IPA on that he had a few of in contemplative solitude. That night began a ritual which had started sometime in the past six months. They would get another break-through in their struggle against the New Order. Another safe house raided, another arms deal stopped – another step closer to Cyvus and the Lieutenants – or the new power on the throne. He would come to O’Malley’s alone, drink a few. When he was ready, which was often well after O’Malley was good and ready, he would summon their shared car. The one with the driver who must have had millions of questions but had been kept so long in Ruth’s employ precisely because he never asked them. He’d be driven for about half an hour; to a small orchard and farm a little west of Warrington.

It was near the local church, of course, it would have had to have been. It had been in the family for years though there was now only one person to look after it – and she was getting on in years. Though it was looking a little worse for the wear it stood okay. He would sit on the stone wall on the quiet main road in the night, thinking. Sometimes good things, about happy memories and the moments in between the suffering. Sometimes dark things, the memories which clawed at his seams. Sometimes he would empty his mind of anything and let himself simply experience the cool night air, the soft breeze and the occasional speckle of rain.

Sometimes just before dawn he would see a flicker in the windows and catch a glimpse of the ghost of the woman he once called family. But when the light would begin coming into the sky he would summon his ride home and return to Home Base.

The gothic red-brick architecture of the main entrance filled half of a small Manchester street, it rose five stories into the air and looked grandiosely at the other buildings with a distinct air of not superiority, exactly, but rather just coolness. It was relatively new but liked to appear older through period-mouldings and smoking vents down the alleyway at the back.

After the glass-clad tall whore of a building they’d worked in before, the stout-hard stockier building they had now was something refreshing. Of course, they didn’t only work there now, they also lived there. It was their ‘Home Base’ as Rick kept calling it (despite Sandy insisting it would be copyrighted for DIY); their living quarters and their contribution area (a PC way of saying doss-about-at-work-play-pen). The remainder of the workers for Biogenesis had been dispersed across the other offices (one up in Inverness and the rest scattered throughout Europe), whilst a few went on temporary research grants with local universities and institutions under contractual obligation to return to Biogenesis once the new offices were built. Rick thought it was little more than a sugar-coated chokehold but admired Ruth for it none the less.

The building itself was centred around a courtyard in which there was a fountain and some assorted pretty flowers Sandy had given him the Latin names of and he’d immediately forgotten. It was a cosy area that all the inner windows looked over. Rick supposed it was better than the view of the drunks throwing up on the street on the other side but maybe he was being picky.

The first-floor entrance gave rise to the feeling of walking into some grand hall – perhaps Ruth had intended it that way. But once you got past the gothic architecture and rolling arches it was pretty much like any other building – corridors, rooms, etc. On the ground floor was Louise’s new make-shift infirmary, where she treated in relative secrecy the various cuts, scrapes and bruises (and one case of rabies) that had come about from their hunting down of the New Order and all their flying monkeys. There was also a more than adequate living area with several sofas and a pair of large French doors looking out to the courtyard. They barbequed in the courtyard sometimes, while rotating the Tv on the wall out to face them so they could watch reruns of CSI: Miami (or as it had become known ‘The Ginger Man Show’). They also had a large kitchen to share, although someone kept eating all the Cheerios and Rick was fairly sure it was Andrew. He denied it but then who wouldn’t lie about stealing breakfast cereals?

There was also a large conference room in which they sometimes gave and received presentations for delegates from various other avenues of the company. It was ‘The Fat Cat Room’, a title Ruth hated.

The next floor up again had very few rooms. There was a large library, otherwise known as Andrew’s private collection, row upon row of leather-bound dust-catching books about some other dry past event or another. There was even a large collection of literature on the various secret societies which could have been connected (or been a guise of) the Shadow throughout history – a little light research. Granted, most of it was bollocks spouted by nuts, but hey – the nuts had it right there was shadowy stuff in the first place.

There was a laboratory for Sandy to dally about in, whiling away some of the day. She ran personal experiments, tested out new equipment, continued with previous research she’d been doing for Biogenesis before and even allowed Louise to use the fancy whizzy machines to find out more about what happened to them. So far there had been no negative consequences of the exposure to the radiation that gave them their gifts (not from a medical standpoint anyway) but you never knew when you’d start to sprout extra legs and fly...so...best to be informed.

Rick kept his office on the second floor where he sometimes entertained wealthy clients who wanted a personal touch of psychological counselling. Rick took his oath not to tell anyone about the client’s problems in public but he allowed charades sometimes when a little tipsy. Most of the clients had nothing more wrong with them than too much money and a need to whine but Rick wasn’t above taking their money off them. It helped, that was all.

The third floor contained the large rooms which were apartments for each one of them. There was Rick’s apartment into which he’d eventually moved his entire DVD collection (a gargantuan feat in itself – twelve boxes just for porn). Sandy had hers a little down the hall from his, overlooking the city. Andrew and Louise had originally had separate corner apartments but had moved in together about three months ago, so the final apartment had remained empty (a guest apartment, really).

On the fourth floor, Angel had his apartment on one side of the building, utilizing the space for almost continuous exercise, an extensive collection of literature and computers (he’d become something of a knowledge whore) – as well as a personal stairwell to the roof for a little unkempt freedom for a bit. He was forbidden from flying but that didn’t preclude him from feeling the wind beneath his wings. Rick suspected he also did a little forbidden stuff from time to time. The other side was Ruth’s office where she frequently spent most of her hours. She had her large apartment on the fifth and final floor, a special elevator taking her up there from her office. No one had been invited up there, they supposed she liked her privacy.

It was a simple if large building and had slowly become their home. But there was also something to Home Base that didn’t quite meet the eye. It was below street level, down in the extensive basement. Originally the basement had been their training area, doing some martial arts training, the usual silliness ‘superheroes’ are meant to be able to do (he had become quite partial to kick-boxing). Once they had begun to close in on the New Order members who escaped Janet’s purge they had decided to build themselves a little holding area – three large cages of which so far they had only occupied one.

No basement is a nice area, most are dank holes under the ground just like they appear to be. Rick found theirs no exception as he entered by the holding area, looking out across the expanse of boxes of things they no longer needed and supplies for the lab and the infirmary. He also noted that the basement was smaller than the floor plan of the building, deceivingly so. The large wall full of gardening implements was nothing but a screen concealing two white-washed rooms.

The first was an armoury, plain and simple. In the battle they’d been waging so far they’d needed to use their fair share of firearms and they’d done so willingly. It also housed their tech gear like the earpieces etc. The second room contained their costumes, each of them dyed thanks to Rick. Rick’s was navy blue, Sandy’s maroon, Andrew’s an olive oil yellow and Angel’s a brilliant white. There were a couple of spares of each and even some that came in the usual boring grey for other occasions.

There was, as always, a third room of which only Rick and Ruth knew. The others couldn’t know for reasons best not thought about. Suffice to say, Rick and Ruth knew they were doing the right thing, they would worry about consequences later when the dealing was done and the Man Came Around.

“My God is that fat bastard going to sleep the whole day away?” Sandy muttered to herself, bringing Rick’s attention back into focus. He joined her where she stood outside of the cages and was standing guard, waiting for Cyvus’ expectedly violent awakening. Seeing the aftermath of Ben and Cyvus’ battle in the streets of Manchester...well, it convinced them to take no chances with his incarceration.

“He looks just like Kong did after he fell off the Empire State Building,” Sandy mused, tilting her head for the full effect.

“Twas truly beauty’s Mazda that slew the beast,” Rick added, enjoying the flash of anger on Sandy’s face probably a mite too much for it to be healthy. He only had to enjoy it for a moment, “Speaking of Sleeping B-word, he’s up.”

There was a dry snap as the rope around his wrists flung away. To be fair, the same would have happened with handcuffs, so they had figured why the extra effort? His skin rippled and glistened as he sat up, a silvery hue fleeting across and growing stronger until the entire thing was a reflective coat. He turned his cold eyes to them and glared.

“Morning sunshine,” Rick greeted cheerily, “And yes, it’s Groundhog Day because this is the wonderful view you have to wake up to every single morning from here to eternity. And you are a Guest of this facility, so please feel free to roam around your cell, and make sure your breakfast order is made by nine o’clock or you’ll just get Cheerio’s.”

“You think he likes Cheerio’s?” Sandy wondered.

“The low growl tells me no, he doesn’t like Cheerio’s.”

“Your plan will fail,” he spat at them. He spoke in a clipped, unaccented, flat tone, clearly indicating a man who could use a gun but have difficulty spelling it. It was pretty much the longest sentence they’d heard him string together.

“Oh now, why be negative?” Rick queried, “We haven’t even started with the plan. Capturing you was the thing you do before you enact the plan. And this is like the adverts before the plan starts. We’re going to give you a little while to get used to your surroundings and then we’ll come back and have a little chat.”

“You might want to think about becoming a bit chattier,” Sandy advised him. “Because personally I don’t mind torturing you but other people can be a bit testy about it. That makes me testy and then, therefore, any torture I’m granted, a little nastier. So...think about that while you’re enjoying your cell.” She glanced at Rick, “Okay, I’m all for Tv, you coming?”

“Yeah, why not?”

They began to head for the door when they heard a roar of rage as Cyvus flung his entire mass towards the steel bars. There was a low hum, a thick snap and he was flung back against the wall, smashing up the weakly made bunk they’d provided in the process. Ah well, he probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep on it without the same results anyway...

“Oh and the bars are electrified,” Rick pointed out, “Might want to give them a miss.”

With that, Rick and Sandy headed up the staircase and back up into the hallway.

“24 or Biker Mice From Mars?” Sandy asked him.

“I honestly don’t know which has more to do with torture...” he mused.

* * *

After a whole episode of 24 Sandy found she couldn’t stand Rick’s complete running commentary any longer and instead headed for a nice relaxing bath. Andrew and Louise finally roused themselves from sleep and whilst Andrew remained anti-social and buggered off to his library for God only knew what, Louise joined Rick in the common area where he’d progressed onto flicking through channels looking for something and nothing.

Angel had likewise roused from his sleep (although Rick had a sneaking suspicion that the lad had been up since five that morning, sitting on the rooftop and probably meditating) and was rustling around in the kitchen looking for breakfast cereal.

“You have become a carb whore, you know that?” Rick asked him as Angel sat himself down on the other sofa, his unbound wings resting against the back cushions. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get too fat to fly?”

“Leave the boy alone, he has a high metabolism,” Louise cut in as she wandered over to the French doors, her cup of probably pretentious coffee in her hands. She looked up at the sky with contemplative eyes. “It looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”

“How can you tell that?” Rick asked, not really listening in the first place.

“Well, I’m a doctor...”

The door opened and Sandy joined their little group as Rick flicked over once more from Good Morning Britain to Teletubbies. Stumbling slightly (most probably fell asleep in the bath, Rick assumed) she began rooting through the cupboards with one hand and trying to pry her underwear from her arse crack with the other. Rick frowned, her reflection clear in the Tv screen.

“No one wants to see that,” Rick told her.

“At least I put my bra on this time,” Sandy muttered back to him, finding her bowl of cereal but realizing they had no milk. She sighed and instead reached for her handbag on the counter and slipped out a cigarette. Rick rolled his eyes,

“I thought you’d quit.”

“Sorry but my number one fag has always been Pall Mall, not you,” Sandy snapped at him, heading for the windows as Louise moved away and took a seat next to Angel. She opened one of the doors onto the damp morning air and lit her fag with the tip of her finger. As she took the first drag the end of her cigarette wilted, the way a soggy chocolate finger would after exposure to a hot coffee and she glared at Rick, who hid his smirk quite well as he flicked onto the next channel.

Two seconds later and Rick had run out of the room practically at full pelt. His face had been frozen in a tableau of shock and then he was gone. Sandy flicked the TV off of mute and she, Louise and Angel caught the end of the news story.

“European news now and a man has been fished out of the sea in Southern Spain by a couple of holidaying Brits,” the newsreader explained, “The man, who’s yet to be identified, appears to be suffering from complete amnesia and has no recollection of who he is or how he got there.” As the newsreader began to make fishing jokes with her colleagues Sandy, Louise and Angel caught the display of the man’s blurry photo on the screen and suddenly understood Rick’s reaction.

“We’ve got to call Ruth.”