Mr. Vermeulen sat in his car, tapping his finger rapidly on his knee. Thabo had Thulani. Would the amateur systems tech expose him? Vermeulen was confident he could discredit one witness, but Frans had already gone over to Madaline. If Thulani testified against him, the other council members might take measures, and Vermeulen had sent most of his manpower away.

  Out the window of his electric car, four men huddled together, speaking in low tones. One glared at a pair of police stationed on the corner overseeing workers scrubbing the painted words—'Cthulu tells the truth!'—from an alley wall. Down the road, another emblem of vandalism depicted a head with the bottom half twisting into a mess of tentacles.

  This was probably not the extent of change that Thulani had hoped for, but the seeds had undeniably been planted.

  Vermeulen composed himself, fingers twitching as he tugged at his gloves, pulling them tighter. He couldn’t afford any more mistakes.

  James turned the car on its track to an elevator, and they parked the vehicle in one of four vacant docking slots. Such road vehicles couldn't access any facilities located in the shell.

  Vermeulen didn't wait for James to open the door; he stepped out and threw his long black and green coat over his shoulders.

  James nodded, his small mouth frowning under his hooked nose.

  "Diplomacy today, James," Vermeulen said, stalking past his driver. "Relax."

  "I don't like this, Sir," James said. "This feels like a trap."

  "We weren't invited," Vemeulen disagreed, stepping into the elevator and allowing James to shut the gate. "We're getting there before they can set a bait."

  The elevator shuddered and pulled them up.

  "Relax," Vermeulen said again. "This is a performance. If we show up looking guilty, we'll play into their hands."

  "Things are getting out of hand," James muttered. "We should recall Mandla."

  "Without Terro Vorgiel's specs, we can't construct weapons to cut loose from the corsairs," Vermeulan disagreed. "No nuclear generator means no sustainable power—no future. In five years, we’ll be choking for air again. We keep Manlda on mission and do whatever we can to get him his damn systems tech."

  The elevator stopped with a ping, and the pair crossed several tight corridors before entering the detention center lobby.

  A uniformed officer's eyes bulged as he caught sight of them. "Councilman Vermeulen. I wasn't expecting you."

  "Thabo's in, isn't he?" Vermeulen strolled past the desk, James on his heels.

  "I can tell him you're here if you just wait a moment."

  Vermeulen wouldn't give an adversary forewarning. "That won't be necessary. The conference room, I assume?"

  Vermeulen stopped at a sealed hatchway with an accompanying keypad. He leveled sharp eyes at the guard at the desk.

  The officer swallowed hard and tapped a control on the desk panel. A sharp, jarring buzz cut through the air as the hatch swung open.

  Vermeulen strolled into the prison's corridor, decidedly comfortable with the gloomy and tight quarters. Still in the forward administrative section, he approached the conference room. A guard stiffened at his arrival.

  "Is he in?"

  "Yes, sir." The man plucked a keycard from a lanyard and swiped it in front of a pad. With a metallic click, he stepped in. "Sir, Councilman Verm—"

  Vermulan pushed past without waiting for an introduction. Three figures occupied the low-ceilinged room. Councilman Thabo Mokoena sat at the head of the linoleum table, leaning on his elbows, a frown on his lips. To his left, Councilwoman Madaline Miller's eyes widened, to quickly be masked by a practiced calm. Facing her, police chief Balthazar Gurt Verhoef looked to Thabo as if waiting for guidance.

  If Thabo kept his dog nearby, so would Vermeulen.

  "Thank you, Officer. Come in, James." Vermeulen entered the dim-conference room, taking in his adversaries.

  Thabo's square shoulders and powerful chest mirrored his political strength. With the city's police force under his command, Thabo's capacity for brute force exceeded Vermeulen's—even before Vermeulen had sent most of his men with Mandla.

  Vermeulen shifted his gaze to Madaline, with her chin high and slender neck framed by the sharp edges of her stiff collar. Although she lacked martial prowess, he deemed her the greater threat.

  Individually, Vermeulen might have outmaneuvered them. Together? He wasn’t so sure.

  "I hear you caught the man who calls himself Cthulu," Vemeulen said, sliding into a seat at the foot of the table. James stood protectively behind him.

  "How do you know?" Balthazar demanded.

  "I'm a councilman; I make a great effort to be well-informed in my city," Vermeulen said.

  "Well, maybe you can enlighten us. One of my detectives followed him to your office," Balthazar said accusatively.

  "Thank you, chief," Madaline interjected disapprovingly. Balthazar probably didn't realize he was revealing more than he was uncovering. "What do you know about Cthulu, Cornelius?"

  Vermeulen tapped the table, his mind racing. What had Thulani revealed? The others were probing for inconsistencies, offering nothing to betray what they already knew. Vermeulen shrugged, deciding on the baseline truth. "He asked for a job. I guess he needed money."

  Balthazar drew a breath, ready to push further, but Madaline reached across the table and silenced him by lightly touching his arm. "He's holding back. What did he tell you?" she asked.

  By her forced confidence, Vermeulen deciphered that Thulani was holding back less than she was letting on. "He said he needed a job. He claimed to be good with systems"—all true. "I told him I didn't need him." Vermeulen introduced his first deception.

  "How did you know he was Cthulu?" Thabo asked.

  "I had him followed when he left my shop," Vermeulen said. "After you rolled him up, I started digging. Apparently, he took an inferior job to gain access to the Bulletin’s systems. He has the skill to pull it off, and ostensibly, he was directly in the heart of the raid."

  Vermeulen paused, weighing his next move. By the unspoken rules of civility, they now owed him an answer if they wanted to maintain the facade of unity. "What are you not telling me? What did he say?"

  Thabo glanced at Madaline and then replied. "He claims to be the leader of the resistance force that ruined the raid."

  Vermeulen started, and Madaline smiled as she read into his surprise. "What does this mean?" Vermeulen asked. "When the Corral Corsairs come inquiring about their sunken sub, do we have the man responsible?"

  "He's lying," Thabo said, his eyes darkening. "He's protecting someone."

  "What makes you so sure?" Vermeulen asked.

  "He slipped in an interrogation," Thabo explained. "Said the true leader wasn't in Joberg."

  "Vermeulen," Madaline cut in more directly. "Where is Mandla?"

  Vermeulen scoffed in indignation, startled at her direct approach. Then he chuckled. "You don't think—"

  "He's capable, and no one has seen him around in over a week."

  "That's because I sent him to pick up three new CNC machines for the mill. He's heading to Miji Wa Lulua. I have the proper permits for outside trade, of course. He has exodus privilege and is one of the few allowed to leave the city on my behalf."

  "Why send Mandla?" Madaline asked. "He's a bodyguard."

  "You said it yourself, Madaline, he's capable. That equipment cost me a fortune. I can’t afford to lose it."

  Madaline glanced at Thabo before Vermeulen continued. "There are plenty of other viable candidates for this mysterious militia. Eel Viper, Buddy, Socket, Thandiwe. Has anyone checked in on the Squid Vultures? If someone leaked information to them, they could have taken countermeasures during the raid."

  "That's a lot of ground to cover," Thabo growled.

  "Less than you realize,” Vermeulan corrected. “Find out who's in the city as of now and eliminate likely suspects unless, of course, Thulani's little slip-up was a feint." Vermeulen leaned forward, tapping the table with gloved fingers. "I wish you had called me earlier. I have a knack for finding people."

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  "How long would it take you to find the real culprit?" Thabo asked, his skepticism still plain on his face.

  "That depends. Would you be willing to let Thulani go?"

  "Ridiculous," Balthizar cried.

  "Is it? We let him out on bail. If he is the leader of some unknown organization, we watch him and see who he contacts. If he's a pawn, we wait for his superiors to reach him. Either way, we provide opportunities for them to make a mistake. So long as we have him, the others will stay in the shadows."

  "We shouldn't risk freeing Thulani," Madaline disagreed.

  "All we've gotten since detaining Thulani and Johan are more questions," Thabo said.

  "I'm sorry." Vermeulen frowned. "You have two?"

  "Johan Insists Thulani is innocent and claims responsibility for killing the raiders single-handedly. Obviously, a cover tactic," Thabo explained.

  Vermeulen didn't expect that. Where had Thulani gotten a partner? "Interesting. The presence of a second is just more proof of a network. All the more reason to root it out."

  Thabo considered Vermeulen for a moment. "I'm no good at scheme's Vermeulen. Letting them go could be a disaster. Honest police work and a heavy hand have always been my preference."

  "Do that then," Vermeulen said. "But hurry, we've picked up long-range frequencies for a Corral Corsair scouting party asking the Eel Fang and Vortex Rider to check-in. The Corsairs are on our doorstep."

  Thabo grimaced. "Schemes are your thing, Vermeulen. If that's what we need to expose this militia, I'll do it. Tell me what you need if you think it'll work."

  Madaline’s eyes flickered between the other two councilmen, and Vermeulen noticed her eye twitch in frustration. Thabo was starting to trust Vermulan again, but not her. She smiled, a feint that Vermulan met with a reassuring nod. She’d watch him even closer now.

  Vermeulen suppressed a smile and turned toward James, who leaned in to receive instructions.

  "Go warm up the car," Vermeulen muttered.

  James nodded and excused himself.

  Vermeulen waited for the driver to leave before he leaned in towards his compatriots. "Let's catch some rats.

  ********

  "Push, Domkop!" Johan hollared.

  Sweat poured down Thulani's face, and his pecs and arms screamed in protest as he inched the bar up. He hissed and gasped, his arms trembling.

  Johan's face hovered over Thulani's, twisted into a scowl. He still wore the plastic neck brace over his orange jumpsuit. "That's barely eighty kilograms; my dead grandma can move more than you!"

  The bar quit moving, and a wave of panic shocked Thulani.

  "Don't stop!"

  The bar inched back down towards Thulani's chest.

  "You got this, one more!" Johan barked.

  The bar dropped, and Johan caught it with one hand, easily reracking it over Thulani's eyes.

  Thulani groaned and rolled off the bench, his arms shaking. Johan started stacking several thick plates over Thulani's pathetic load.

  "You need to eat more," Johan said, plates clinking as he slid them onto the bar. "Consistency is key."

  "I can't move," Thulani moaned and rolled onto his knees, gasping.

  The recreation pit sported a basic gym and a cement quarter court with football goals and a basketball hoop. Two tan-uniformed guards watched from the rectangular balcony above, which held the twenty high-security cells.

  Johan thumped his chest with his fist, which made Thulani smile, considering the neck brace.

  "You're sure the doctor wants you working out? I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be taking it easy."

  "That idiot doesn't know my body." Johan slid under the bar and arched his back, which looked uncomfortable, given the plastic shell on his neck.

  An aggressive buzz from the speakers vibrated the cement under Thulani's feet.

  "What?" Johan growled, sitting up on the bench. "We still have twenty minutes!"

  Four additional guards entered the overlook, and they filed down metal steps.

  Thulani and Johan crossed the room, placing their hands on the wall, as Johan grumbled under his breath.

  Expecting to be frisked, Thulani was surprised when no one touched him.

  "Here's your things." Warden Joseph said.

  Thulani turned in surprise. A guard passed him his clothes, unlaundered but folded.

  "What's going on?" Thulani asked, suddenly defensive.

  "Councilman Vermeulen posted your bail. A hundred thousand Rand each. He says you should consider it a show of good faith. Get dressed, you're going home."

  Thulani entered the front lobby, suspended between pure joy and dread. What was the angle? Was Vermeulen looking out for him for keeping his secrets, or was he trying to silence Thulani forever? He could go home! Of course, he would need to reconcile with Olivia. Then again, it was possible he would meet an untimely accident before he made it.

  Thulani signed the discharging paperwork, his mind racing. What if it wasn't Mr. Vermeulen? What if Thabo or Miller were setting a trap? This abrupt freedom was too good to be true. If that were the case, they would probably hope to incriminate Mr. Vermulan. His best hope would be to avoid Mr. Vermulan at all costs, even if he was the only one in the city who seemed willing to give him answers.

  "Wrist," the guard at the desk said as Johan entered from the administrative front.

  "What?" Thulani offered a hand.

  "The guard fixed a nylon band around Thulani's wrist with an encircling wire and a small box with a port plug-in.

  "You will plug into the nearest port every even hour so we can keep track of your movements," the guard explained as he locked the cuff around Thulani's wrist. If you're more than five minutes late, we'll send officers to your last known location. On Sunday, you will report here for accountability and take a drug test. Until your trial in three weeks, you're forbidden from possessing a weapon or operating any vehicle.”

  Johan signed his packet, now dressed again in hospital clothes, and received a parol cuff. Two officers led them out to the front corridor.

  "Is it just me, or do you feel like something bad's about to happen?" Johan asked.

  At the hatch, one of the officers, a strong-jawed dark man with a wide mustache, offered Thulani his hand. "Good luck," he muttered. "Cthulu."

  "Stop," his partner hissed. "You want to get fired?"

  Was he free, or was he about to die? Thulani swallowed. Something was wrong.

  A guttural growl echoed down the corridor, causing all four men to frown and turn. The lights in the steel tunnel went out, plunging them into darkness, and with a mechanical roar, a harsh spotlight snapped on down the hall, causing Thulani to wince and shade his eyes.

  "Shit," the second officer cursed, grabbing the radio. "I need reinforcements at the front of the prison."

  An ear-splitting roar reverberated down the hall, and the headlight lurched, zipping toward them.

  The officer who called for help reached for his pistol, but instinctually, Johan shoved him against the hatch.

  Thulani flinched, turning to run as a gas bike roared down the narrow walkway. He glanced over his shoulder to see more headlights emerging behind the first rider. Panicked, he sprinted as the first bike zipped past, nearly knocking him over. The rider grabbed Thulani by the shoulder, slowing the bike but still maintaining momentum. "Cthulu, hop on!"

  Thulani turned to see an ebony-skinned man clad in a leather jacket and goggles. His posture measured to be an enemy, yet too focused to be harmless. What was this? A savior or a hitman?

  Behind, Johan jumped on the back of a second bike, and a third rider kept a pistol trained on the two officers, who froze with their hands raised.

  Being yanked, Thulani stumbled. He had been detained and had acted without allies or friends. Part of him longed to know others cared as much as he did, and for the first time since Mandla, someone else was possibly working against the council.

  Rather than pulling away, he leaped onto the back of the rider's motorcycle. Why did this feel like a rescue immediately after he was released?

  "Stay low, hold on tight." The rider called, and Thulani's gut lurched as they shot down the corridor.

  Fossil fuel vehicles were largely illegal in Joberg as the air systems weren't designed to filter large amounts of exhaust. So, who piloted such a heavy piece of contraband? The rider was forced to slow to take the corner, but clearing that, he roared down the walkway. Thulani thought he heard gunshots, but holding on for dear life, he didn't see who might have been responsible.

  The rider took two more turns. Thulani's insides squirmed as metal walls rushed past as fast as a bandsaw’s blade. Thulani risked a glance behind to see Johan holding onto a second helmeted rider.

  They passed pedestrians twice, forcing the bystanders to lunge into open hatches to avoid being run down.

  They pulled into a cargo elevator at the edge of the shell, a protective cage offering a full view of the metropolis beyond. A latticework of empty scaffolding clung to the shell on either side, climbing several stories, its skeletal framework an ongoing testament of maintenance and repairs.

  "What's going on?" Thulani asked, relieved to be headed for a more open space, but he got no answer. Now, they could take the elevator safely to the metropolis floor.

  His gut tightened, as rather than inputting a command to descend, the third rider opened a man door and whisked onto a construction scaffolding without rails.

  "No, we can't?—" Thulani's bike lurched, and he ducked as they passed through the door. All three bikes climbed ramps with a five-story drop into the open air. At times, their tires skimmed only centimeters away from the edge as they climbed switchback ramps.

  Thulani closed his eyes and clung to his rider even tighter. The steel scaffolding bowed and swayed under the weight of the machines. Roaring and sputtering engines pulled them onto narrow ramps, and once, they knocked a toolbox free into a ramp below.

  "Here's the best part!" the rider called, and Thulani opened his eyes. A ramp dead ahead ended in empty space. "Hold on and stay low!" The rider called, shooting the bike along the walkway.

  "No!" Thulani screamed, but the engine drowned his voice. Wind, an uncommon experience at the bottom of the ocean, buffeted his face, and he may have peed a little as the bike climbed the ramp, launching them in the air. The bike sailed across emptiness with the tops of buildings far below before crashing back down in an open nook on the inner shell, landing beside the other two bikes, which had already made the jump while Thulani’s eyes were closed. On solid ground and at a stop, Thulani slipped off the bike, his hands shaking. Behind him, the metropolis sprawled under an open alcove.

  Johan's spiked hair looked frazzled, but he grinned like a boy having caught his first catfish.

  The lead rider swung off his bike and flicked out a switchblade, the chrome knife reflecting in the headlights. Thulani swallowed and stepped back towards the open drop.

  The rider grabbed Thulani's wrist, so Thulani jerked away. “Got to remove this,” The leader explained as he cut Thulani's parol band off with a single stroke and tossed it over the edge. Behind, another biker removed Johan's.

  "Who are you?" Thulani asked, panting with more adrenaline firing through him than when armed men tried to kill him.

  "The name's Socket." The rider said, stowing the switchblade and lifting his goggles to his forehead. "That's Piston and Spoke."

  The other two riders waved. Piston was a full-bearded white man, and Spoke pulled off her helmet to reveal a dark woman with a buzz cut, a gemstone glittering in her nose.

  "Did Vermeulen send you?" Thulani asked, his heart still pounding.

  "Vermeulen sent me." A white man with a dark five o'clock shadow and a cowboy hat stepped into the light from a hidden entryway. Thulani had only ever heard elements of this man's accent in the film. Part cowboy, part Soviet Russian.

  "Howdy, comrade. My name is Jeremy Johnson, but you can call me JJ. Da?"