Rise of the Fallen
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B. Shock
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60
Chapter 1
Book 3: Rise of the Fallen
KORA
Shit, shit, shit!
My heart was pounding in my chest, and my lungs felt like they were on fire as I sprinted through the Red District. I was desperate to put as much distance as I could between myself and the danger Iâd just escaped.
The world around me was a blur of neon lights, shouting pedestrians, and vendors crowding the sidewalks, all oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded. I darted into an alley, slowing to a stop and leaning against a wall for support.
Bent over, hands on my knees, I struggled to catch my breath.
It felt like Iâd been running for an eternity, my muscles aching as I gulped in air, trying to regain control. Behind me, neon signs from the buildings across the street cast an eerie glow in the dark alley. My ponytail was coming loose, strands of hair sticking to my sweaty forehead, my skin slick with sweat.
I leaned back against the brick wall, looking up at the night sky.
Well, it wasnât exactly a sky, more like a jumble of wires, pipes, and metal plates that made up the dome of the Red District. This place couldnât afford luxuries like hologram reflectors to mimic the night sky on Earth. Just like I couldnât afford to get caught right now.
I glanced down at my blood-stained pants, lifting my hands to see them smeared with blood.
Shit This wasnât my fault! Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, but I forced them back, taking a shaky breath to suppress the panic welling up inside me.
I canât afford to break down. Not here, not now.
I shrugged off my coat, trying to wipe off as much blood as I could from my hands before tossing the worn-out jacket into a nearby dumpster.
I was trying to get rid of any evidence, even though it felt pointless. I stared at the metal container, wishing it would spontaneously combust and incinerate any trace of my wrongdoing. Wishing I could just go home and pretend this nightmare never happened.
Maybe this is just a dream. Maybe Iâll wake up, and this will all be over.
If that jerk, Maxwell, hadnât laid a hand on me, we wouldnât have fought.
I wouldnât have pushed him away, and he wouldnât have fallen down those stairs and cracked his skull open. I wouldnât have been found next to his lifeless, mangled body, his blood on my hands, when the authorities arrived.
My lip quivered as I remembered the sickening sound of Maxwellâs head hitting the stone staircase.
I shouldnât have run, but fear and panic had taken over, sending my instincts into overdrive. Now, I was a fugitive, painting myself as a criminal. Not that innocence mattered in this hellhole.
I grabbed my hair and yelled, âDamn it!â
Iâm screwed. Iâm so screwed! I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Theyâre probably tearing my apartment apart right now, combing the streets for me. No matter what I do, Iâm going to get caught. Iâm trapped in this floating tin can with no hope of escape.
Cameras were everywhere, leaving no place to hide.
Why had I ever thought joining the colonization mission was a good idea? I should have stayed on Earth, in my tiny shack in the slums. Instead, I was stuck on Krosa, an orbital habitat, running for my life.
If the guards caught me, it was game over. The way theyâd drawn their weapons when theyâd found me next to Maxwellâs body, theyâd already decided I was a murderer. And once they reviewed the evidence, I knew how damning it would look.
Crimes like murder, theft, and assault were common in the Red District, Krosaâs version of the slums.
So, finding someone next to a dead body was all the proof they needed to label you guilty. What was worse, there was surveillance footage of our fight before he fell. No one would care that heâd touched me first, or that I was defending myself. Theyâd only care that I was responsible for his death.
Even if I got a trial, which was unlikely, theyâd still brand me a killer just to get rid of another body.
Iâm dead either way.
I laughed hysterically, slumping against the metal wall, torn between curling up in a ball in this filthy alley or screaming my rage at the universe. I wiped the tears from my eyes, refusing to let them fall.
Screw my life. Screw this colony. Screw the empire and all those snobby politicians and their twisted idea of justice!
A familiar sound from across the street caught my attention as a news hologram started playing.
I cautiously moved toward the entrance of the alley, eyes glued to the hologram projected on the side of a building, showing a stern-looking man reading from a teleprompter.
âItâs been confirmed that following Keith Asmoraâs tragic death last year, his successor and only daughter, Alita Asmora, has returned to politics and pledged to continue her fatherâs work in empowering the commoners of Krosa.
âShe will also continue to work toward the controversial abolition of the penal colony, Xanadis. While itâs unclear whether the policies surrounding the penal colony will be abolished, her representative has assured all of Krosa that they will address the issue in the coming days.â
Abolish the penal colony?
I watched the news broadcast intently, my mind spinning. Could they really do that? People continued to walk down the street, paying no attention to the hologram, or me, as they passed by.
âIn other news, we have received word that a forty-two-year-old man was found dead along with his female assailant in the East Gallo section of the Red District. The assailant fled the scene of the crime on foot.
âAuthorities are currently searching for the young woman and have released a detailed description of the murderer. If anyone has any information about this fugitive, please contact your nearest security supervisor immediately.â
I went pale as the man on the hologram disappeared, replaced by a very familiar profile of a young woman.
I couldnât even focus on the name or the physical description being broadcast from the hologram and echoing down the street. I was too shocked at the picture staring back at me. My picture.
Even though Iâd expected this, I was still stunned to be labeled a criminal, a mix of outrage and disbelief gnawing at me.
All Iâd done was defend myself! I didnât mean to kill him. I just wanted him to stop touching me! How was I supposed to know heâd lose his balance and fall down the stairs?
I tugged at my hair in frustration, staring at the ground, feeling dizzy as my world started to spin.
âHey! There she is!â
Snapping out of my daze, I saw three Krosa guards in white uniforms, running down the street toward me.
Shit!
I turned and started pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape. I broke into a run as soon as I had enough space, determined to put as much distance between me and the guards as possible.
I canât get caught! I canât get caught!
The thought echoed in my head as I sprinted through the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest. As I reached the end of the street and rounded the corner, I came face-to-face with another guard, his stun gun aimed at me.
I tried to backpedal, but it was too late. The guards chasing me had caught up. Rough hands slammed into my back, pushing me forward and effectively ending my escape.
In seconds, I went from running for my life to falling onto the cold, hard ground, my palms scraping painfully against the concrete as I tried to break my fall.
This is it. Game over.
The guards pinned my arms above my head, cuffing me before pulling me back to my feet. I didnât resist, defeat draining any hope I had of escaping.
I was silent as they dragged me away, shock taking over as I justâŠshut down.
Everything after that was a blur. It felt like only seconds had passed, but it could have been hours, maybe even days.
I vaguely remembered being taken to a jail a few blocks away and thrown into a holding cell. I wasnât sure how long I sat there, huddled in the corner on the floor, hugging my knees.
Two guards eventually showed up and escorted me to a nearly vacant courtroom for what they dared to call a trial.
There was no judge to pass my sentence, no jury of my peers, just one of the many security officials who ruled over the Red District. He was perched on a raised wooden bench at the back of the room, and as the guards positioned me before him, I was compelled to tilt my head upward, looking at him as if he were some deity demanding my reverence.
Not on your life.
âYou know whatâs going to happen here today, right? Either you die by the Krosa executioners or on the penal colony, Xanadis. Unless you do something for me.â The officialâs words hung in the air as he gave me a half-hearted smile, thinking he had me trapped.
âI have a problem that needs solving. Someoneâs causing trouble in Krosaâs political scene, meddling where they shouldnât. I need them gone. So, you take care of them for me, and Iâll make all this go away. Youâll be free of all charges and can return to your little home in the Red District like nothing ever happened.â
I narrowed my eyes at the official, my upper lip curling in disgust.
Was he really trying to use me to get rid of his enemies and gain more political power? If I said no, heâd probably offer this opportunity to the next âcriminalâ in my situation, hoping the fear of execution would force them to agree.
But what if I did help him? I doubted my charges would actually disappear. More likely, someone else would be blamed for Maxwellâs murder, and Iâd go back to the slums knowing another person was dead because of me.
I gritted my teeth, glaring at the official as he watched me with a mocking look, thinking Iâd jump at the chance to do his dirty work.
âGo to hell.â
The guards didnât react, but the officialâs smile vanished from his smug face as he glared back at me.
âExile it is,â he snapped. âKora Wrathia, youâve been found guilty of the murder of Sir Maxwell Crone. You will be sent to the penal colony Xanadis to die or live out the rest of your lifecycle.â
Of course, the bastard didnât even give me a choice between execution or exile. A bullet to the brain was too quick. Too merciful. Being dropped from a pod onto a hostile planet would be a much worse fate.
He signaled to the guards behind me. âTake her away.â
The soldiers grabbed my shoulder roughly, pulling me away from the jerk as I flipped him off, hoping heâd rot in hell. I wouldnât be around to see it, but revenge wasnât my concern. People like him always screwed themselves over in the end.
I didnât cry, didnât yell obscenities as I was dragged away. I didnât even beg for a chance to defend myself as the guards led me to another part of the building used for getting rid of problems. There was no point in fighting what was coming. Krosaâs officials were corrupt, and refusing oneâs offer would have sealed my fate if I wasnât already doomed.
Thereâs no justice here. Iâm just another body to discard.
When we got to the air hangar, I was uncuffed, stripped down, and forced to put on a thick bodysuit that fit like a second skin and kept out the cold. Then they cuffed my hands in front of me again and led me to a space shuttle, guiding me up a ramp and inside.
I took a seat, barely noticing the other guards piloting the ship or the one that strapped me into my seat, just wanting this to be over. I saw the pod that would drop me over the penal colony out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored it, refusing to give it any attention until I had to.
I waited in silence for what felt like forever before the shuttle took off, my body shaking from the engines as we flew high into the sky, heading straight for Xanadis.
Looking down at my cuffed wrists, I couldnât help but think about my life on Earth and my time on Krosa. Iâd spent my days living in the slums in both places, struggling to survive like a stray cat on the streets. Always alone and miserable, even when I came here hoping for a better future.
And now all of that was gone, and I honestly didnât know how to feel. Sad? Depressed? I probably should have been both. Instead, I just felt angry at this whole situation, and anxious about what would happen next.
The guards were waiting for the alert signaling the pod was at the right drop spot, and sure enough, a shrill beep sounded from the speaker above the control panel in the cockpit.
My eyes shot up from my cuffs, watching one guard as he typed a long string of numbers into a keypad on the wall. A narrow door on the pod slid open, revealing a tiny, cramped space for one person.
âGet in.â The guard closest to me grabbed my arm and pulled me from my seat, pushing me in the back when I didnât move. I stumbled forward before shooting him a glare over my shoulder, silently wishing heâd fall down a damned flight of stairs.
I turned back to the podâs entrance, steeling myself, determined not to panic or show weakness in front of any of these people. I stepped inside and lay back in the pod, tensing when the guard reached inside and grabbed my hands.
He was rough, but I didnât mind since he took off my cuffs, a small kindness considering where I was going. He stepped back, and the door slid shut, leaving me alone in complete darkness. I sighed, closed my eyes, and waited for my impending fall, my anger giving way to the anxiety that had just hit me full force.
Entering an atmosphere was always disorienting, and Iâd never done it in such a rickety pod before, or in anything that wasnât a sturdy ship. What was even worse, I didnât know what was waiting for me down below.
But one thing I did know. If my executioners in the Red District thought I was just going to lie down and die, then they didnât know who they were dealing with.
If I was meant to die on an alien planet full of monsters, then so be it, but I wasnât going down without a fight.
I hope youâre ready, Xanadis. Go ahead. Give me your worst.
