The Chapel of Ascension.
Just the name sounds like the kind of cod-mysticism I usually go to great lengths to avoid. And yet here I am, travelling across town in an overpriced EMV-taxi, trying to escape violent separatists who think I'm responsible for Elise's disappearance. So now I'm searching for her in a place of worship that may or may not even exist.
I have to get to the bottom of this Elise thing, though, one way or another, before Manni signals that he's ready to take me to meet Onya. Before we pass the point of no return.
But the truth is, I realise, as the taxi slows and we reach Aphex, we may have passed that point already. There is no way to know for sure.
The driver locks the doors as we pass the district's main entry sign. The streets, which look similar to a medina, are cramped and slick with rain, while the doors to all the cafes and shops are either shut or in the process of boarding up. The taxi driver says it's because they don't want the trouble. Residents often get rival sets of fans spilling from the stadium after the game, looking for fights.
Control Kinetics are playing tonight. Their 60,000-seater arena dominates the skyline, a wraparound corona of cold blue light that pulses into the night. It shines like the arrival of some alien god, reminding us what constitutes the focus of most people's attention, and it gets me thinking.
Is the chapel religious?
From my searches through my headface, it seems not in the traditional sense. Everything about the traditional Abrahamic faiths here has been Utayanised, if that's even a word, their narrative twisted and contorted to fit a new place and setting.
Still, no matter their shape, they do pay homage to an external deity, which feels antiquated and at odds with the Babel-like atmosphere that permeates daily life; the worship of the city as an entity in itself, or the various sports players, or the expansion promised in Phase Two. Whatever way you cut it, gods here are preferred with a small 'g'.
Worshipping any kind of deity seems old-fashioned here, be it in a mosque, church, or temple. And all of them have been crammed into this district, as if the city is ashamed. As I look around, some spires and domes have sagged due to bight, or partially collapsed thanks to arson or neglect. Naturally, they make mournful silhouettes as we move forward under the city's neon backdrop.
The only denomination that flourished, at least originally, was the New Evangelicals; the Chapel of Ascension was the jewel in their crown. Only it was known as St. Paul's back then, standing as this grand, neo-futurist spire, one of the first in the city.
Tonight, the lights may still be on, but the chapel is a ransacked ruin.
'Whoa, whoa,' I tell the driver as we slow down outside its entrance.
The driver locks the Amberlite as we pull up and take in the scene.
Smoke drifts from the building's open doors, and chunks of masonry lie scattered across the street. Meanwhile, the air stinks of burned carbon, tear gas, and something heavier and more unpleasant. Blood and rot and death.
On the steps of the church, a small crowd keeps vigil. Women, mainly, huddling by the gate with their heads bowed over wreaths as a group of four Kapo stand still behind. Blank-eyed and motionless, like traffic cameras stood at the scene of their own crime.
Drones hover overhead, crisscrossing the grounds with red sensor nets and scanning for movement. Presumably, they are securing the scene until a chaplain droid reports that it is safe to clean up the mess. Someone shouts from the crowd.
'People are still alive inside!' But the Kapo don't move.
My driver doesn't want to wait, but I pay him extra and then step out. My skin feels cold. The whole street feels like a stage set, the rain barely masking the smell of the ruin and the various horrors festering within.
Given the heavy presence of security, approaching the chapel from the front feels like a bad idea. Following the wall to a narrow side alley where the shadows deepen, however, I see I can press on.
Half a minute later, the air is damp and dead. And when I strain my eyes, I can see a door to the vestry at the end of the alley, hanging in the shadows and bust open on its hinges. After which I hear it.
Footsteps and heavy breathing.
At first, it echoes all around me. But then it comes again, sharper now, from behind the open door.
Someone is standing there and watching me.
I glance back toward the street at the strange tableau. The mourners keep their heads low as the drones hover overhead, and the Kapo don't move.
I edge forward, one step at a time.
A new sound. Wet and human, like phlegm hewn from a wheezing chest. Movement flickers in the dark. Quick and low to the ground.
My headface tracks it, but the shape is too blurry. A rat analogue? Possibly some kind of gene-hack?
I look back again. The Kapo are still there, motionless like sentinels.
This is not a crackdown, I realise grimly. It is a message.
My head buzzes. Manni is calling.
At long last!
I look over my headface overlay, voice poised and about to answer. But then whatever it is within the shadows lunges forward and grabs me around both wrists.
Something wiry, with manacle-tight human hands, yanks me back into the darkness and throws me to one side.
I hit the floor hard, the smell of tobacco filling my nose.
Fat Jimmy!
He leans in close, sweeping his dreads back before growling in my ear. 'I wouldn't answer that if I were you.'
Thanks for checking out Hard Lines. To track the whole story so far, please visit the Serials page on Beyond Colossus. New scenes drop each Wednesday.