The City of Mercury

Khalon Arhaman gazed out into the lilac sky. Glittery diamond spires flirted at clouds, sparkling with lustful promises. The City of Mercury. The airship, the Enfant Pretentieux glided closer to the most famous city on the planet, and Khalon’s stomach lurched at distant sounds of glass clicking and people cheering to their safe arrival. I’m safe from them, for now at least. Maybe that’s why they kept their distance, deciding to whisper among their peers and giggle to themselves. Smooth-handed men and women in fine furs and fabrics whose steps stained the floor with gold and riches. Khalon was the opposite and like Mercury City, his reputation preceded him. 

Khalon loosened his nobleman’s vest as he looked down at the jewel-like gates into the city. The checkpoint was littered with Hydraginium forces. Silver encrusted buildings rose like alluring talons and cars jetted over streets hundreds of feet below. The prideful city’s smooth sidewalks, illustrious streets, gardens, and towering fountains on top of buildings, welcomed him. A mask. Below the shimmering cars, rising smoke with little figurines marching toward the flames, attempting to kill the fires. Khalon smirked. 

His moment of peace faded as the airship traveled deeper into the city. Lavender skies turned deep violet as the city’s mask started to slip; Khalon’s stomach tightened. The noblemen and women above were most likely smiling, laughing, and in awe at the city and its dark trickery. A phantom smell from piles of garbage, decomposition, caked blood, hot perfume, and sweat-filled air from brothels invaded Khalon’s senses. 

“I heard, he ate rats before being adopted by Lord Arhaman! Ooh! I heard he bedazzled the finest women back in the Lord’s town, that’s why he was carted off here with us!” said a playful thick accented voice, breaking Khalon’s peace. A smile appeared on his face; he turned to see Nikita lecturing him with a look and a hand on her hip, the other on her sword. “If you wanted privacy, you could at least tell me where you’re going to go,” she said in her thick accent.

“Then what would be the point of privacy?” Khalon retorted. 

“Your safety is more important than your privacy. Remember what happened last time?” Nikita said nodding to his cast. 

“It got me here did it not? My half-siblings will do anything to shut me up,” Khalon said. He grimaced. “Particularly after they failed to ‘absolve’ me.”

“This is a daring task that not even Harvey would have done,” Nikita replied, meeting Khalon by the windows. In the corner of his eye, Khalon noticed her sigh, and the royal guard’s eyes misted over in memory. “He would have wanted you to see the city in the morning. The sunrise is the best at that time,” Nikita said.

Choking smoke invaded Khalon’s mind. Blistering flames revealed a dark figure, lying motionless on blood-stained ground. As the flames filled his childhood home, Khalon went closer to the figure. Before he could see the lying corpse, he snapped back into reality. He sneered at the city. “If he could see how far it has…” he said, trailing off.

Nikita put a hand on his shoulder. “Focus,” she said tightening her grip. “The task ahead will need your full attention.”

Khalon nodded. He took a deep breath and released his clenched fists, the cast around his forearm loosening. Night blanketed the city, stirring awake the warrior. 

“Are you prepared?” Nikita asked.

“Always,” Khalon replied.

“Are you prepared?” she asked again slowly, and the two’s eyes locked. 

“Yes.” 

“Good,” Nikita said nodding her head. “We are almost there.”

The bodyguard motioned outside and Khalon followed her gaze. In the distance, over golden lights and streaming floating cars, a silver spherical dome stood. The bio-dome. 

***

Slipping past the crew was easier than Khalon anticipated. Could it have been because the workers were slaving in a futile effort to please snot-nosed partygoers, the twelve-hour shift leading to their dullness of senses, or his training? Khalon pushed the thoughts away as he entered the cargo holding area. Four-thousand feet—a bar of soap through wet hands—only he would be the soap plummeting four-thousand feet towards the earth. No one to save you and no one to see you fall. Khalon’s heart drummed in his chest as he slipped out of his clothes and revealed the tri-weave cannonadium dipped suit underneath. He unwrapped the cast revealing the compact nanite canister mounted to his wrist and unlocked it; his body changed. Jet black and green armor enveloped him, from his feet up to his neck. He opened the cargo door.

Cold air rushed into the ship, whipping at Khalon’s face. He gazed down at the map of the world below; once glittery buildings that reached up to grab him and welcome him turned into dark ghoulish claws threatening him, appalled at his audacity. Mercury City spoke to him. Do you dare? For the last time, he felt his heart flutter, then he pressed the button on his collar. A dark helmet blanketed him. The Defeater dared. He jumped.

He floated through space, plummeting faster towards the metal city. He became weightless, a heavy ball sinking into abyssal oceans. The night relaxed his muscles and his heart slowed. The city pulled him closer to its embrace. There were no worries, no fear—no guilt.

Khalon stared back into flames. The figure lying on the ground stirred awake, coughing red metallic liquid. His dark hair was charred and olive skin became stuck singed meat under torn armor.

The Defeater snapped back to reality, continuing to plummet further towards the city. The altimeter in his head’s up display became red as the tips of buildings welcomed him to the playground; The Defeater obliged.

He deployed his wingsuit, then shot off into the city, whipping through cool wind and metallic mountains of architecture. With a dive and a dip of his shoulder, the Defeater blurred across the night. His helmet’s display lay in the corner of his eye. One thousand meters…eight-hundred meters…

The perimeter of the dome fortress was lined with gates and guards sprawled across the property. For a bio-dome, there was an odd occurrence of heavily armed men, too stocky to be regular city-goers and too comfortable to be carrying around plasma rifles. Mercenaries. It was illegal for them to work in the country, but with the right bribes to the Hydraginium, they were welcomed with open arms.  The Defeater's chest tightened. He stretched out his hand and his gauntlet dispersed the incendiary drones. They rocketed towards the dome and impacted in coordinated explosions across the area, north, south, east, and west. 

The explosions knocked out air surveillance and disabled their transformer, leaving the spreading fire to distract the scurrying trained killers. The Defeater aimed for the top of the dome. He raised his hand and his gauntlet opened, ejecting a miniature missile that exploded the top of the building. He dived headfirst into the lucrative greenhouse.

Machines replaced gardens and conveyor belts stole plots of land for beautiful plants. The drug-runners below were in chaos. For gardeners, they were well equipped with plasma firearms. The Defeater landed on the catwalk, and his eyes landed on a figure across the dome. A bulky man turned from the chaos outside and locked eyes with the Defeater. The Defeater smirked. Hammon.

“IT'S HIM,” Hammon roared, pointing up. Goons’ rifles aimed upwards and The Defeater's smile widened.

The Defeater’s gauntlet deployed smoke, cloaking the room. He sprayed dozens of miniature magnetized EMP’s that landed on their targets and the smoky room lit up in sparks of light. The Defeater leaped from the catwalk and onto the misty battleground. The vigilante’s helmet turned to infrared and hired guns lit up in reds and yellows, all but Hammon; he was in a blue and violet glow. 

The Defeater became a blur, synthetic muscle fibers increasing his speed. He dismantled one man after the other. He vaulted over their heads and deployed stun darts that sent secondary weapons firing into flammable tanks. The greenhouse combusted into an insane inferno. Machines sparked and crashed as The Defeater tossed and ran through hordes of men. The riot smoke faded and real smoke rose to the dome’s roof. Men scurried for cover and an exit while the vigilante searched for Hammon through the chaos; the giant man disappeared.

A goon rushed towards The Defeater with a heavy rifle but he parried. He twisted his arm the wrong way, and as he knocked the goon away, the synthetic fibers failed to restrain his arm. He faltered. Dizziness overcame him. His helmet’s systems flashed a warning signal before goons came rushing out of the smoke towards him. He gritted his teeth. Focus on the pain…focus!

The Defeater deployed an electrical net, that punted the men backward. A sudden light knocked the Defeater across the room. System battery rising…

Good. The kinetic plating was doing its job. A goon rushed towards him raining plasma bolts into the vigilante, but his armor sponged up the power. He knocked the goon unconscious then stood; his heart dropped to his stomach. On the catwalk, Hammon raised his arm and it changed; artificial skin shifted and clicked back to reveal a cannon—aiming right at The Defeater.

The machine whirred to life, then fired.

In explosive light, the world became weightless. Glitching code turned red behind the vigilante’s helmet before being overtaken by the increasing flames. The impact of the landing shocked him more than the cannon. The artificial intelligence in his helmet spoke. System overcharged…system overcharged…

The Defeater’s ears rang and copper swam in his mouth. He was moving through molasses and his arm shook with pain. His mind became a blank canvas and men charged towards him until they became a swarm. Each stomp and fist sent his system glitching; tension piled inside, he couldn’t find clear footing.

Flames shot into his vision. He stood over a corpse. The corpse coughed and its charred hand reached out to him. It was muttering…

Khalon could not distinguish the words—not until now.

The Defeater entered reality for the last time. Adrenaline crashed through his system, his suit coming back to life. Fibers and plating collided then expanded. The Defeater shot up and released a wave of energy that blew the remaining men into the raging flames. The Defeater’s arm was screaming but a smile crept to his face. He stood, and through the flames, a figure walked out.

Hammon’s arm shifted and metal plates and motors transformed back into a cold porcelain fist. His crimson ponytail was sizzling at the end and his shoulder was in flames. His shoulder clicked and steam blew out the minor annoyance. An illegally modified organism, The Defeater grimaced under his helmet. What do you expect from one of Keiran’s lieutenants?

“This city belongs to one man!” the cyborg roared through the crackling flames. Plants screamed as machines melted. “ Your head will be mounted on his wall!”

“You first,” The Defeater replied in a modulated voice. The two charged each other.

For a mass of around a ton, Hammon was fast— military-grade modification could do that. The Defeater’s fist like was raw meat slapping stone. He ducked under hot fists until Hammon’s arm transformed into a plasma buzzsaw. 

The Defeater parried his blade, ducking and dodging as his fatigued muscles whined. Focus on the pain. His forearm howled in agony as over eight hundred pounds of artificial skin slammed against his gauntlets. The plasma buzzsaw spun faster, and the hot metal cut through the vigilante’s helmet. 

Hammon cackled. The Defeater fell to his knees. The buzzsaw was inching closer to real flesh; its burning kiss almost at the tip of his nose. The noise was deafening, and Hammon’s laugh was chilling, modulated…machine-like.

Cyborgs or humans, they were machines. Like all machines, they had a weakness. 

The Defeater ducked under the beast, unsheathed a plasma dagger, and cut through the cyborg’s Achilles tendon. The vigilante sliced through the next artificial sinew and the next. Hammon spun and screamed, firing blindly in a circle as a dark blur sliced away his parts. His arm then his cannon, and a dagger through his steel shoulder.

Hammon collapsed to the ground, sparks sputtering out of him. The Defeater stood over him with his plasma blade dripping with oil. Hammon raised his head weakly and red eyes stared hate into the vigilante. “H-he will…maim you…take away everything you ever love…” Hammon said spitting blood and sparks.

The Defeater’s blade extended into a katana. 

“You’ll…die…before Mercury City…lets you win!”

An image flashed through the vigilante’s mind. The charred corpse’s words—Harvey Arhaman’s words…

The war goes on…

“Keiran and the Quantum sons will eat you al-”

The Defeater beheaded him.

***

The Defeater’s heart relaxed as he sighed. The bio-dome was swallowed into the flames. He stood on top of a building, one ear to the receiver in his malfunctioning helmet and the other hearing the bursting machines holding the gallons of drugs below. Cool air entered the crack in his helmet, and the smell of smoke and metal seeped in. His body would punish him tomorrow, but tonight he would rejoice in the victory. But the war goes on…

Hyrdraginium forces would be on the way. No amount of bribes could keep them from investigating a burning greenhouse holding illegal substances. The Hydraginium would ask questions and if there was anything Keiran hated, it was being in the spotlight. The Defeater raised the head of Hammon and stared into his vacant eyes. His forearm ached from lifting the fifty pounds of metal. The Defeater could hear Nitika lecturing him in his head about it.

The Defeater stared out into the City of Mercury. Shining buildings loomed in the distance and an airship glided further around the city. I’m late for the party. I’ll be having a long talk with Nitika. Tendrils of smoke rose across the city and The Defeater stared at Hammon’s head. He clicked a button on his collar and his helmet folded away. Khalon scoffed at him. The Hydraginium had another fire to put out, but all the fires in the world, whether in secret underground tunnels or in the only home he knew, none of them could stop what was coming.

 Khalon’s heart sank as his father’s dying face appeared in his mind. Khalon stared into Hammon’s eyes. Change the cybernetics and history of bloodshed and they would be Harvey Arhaman’s eyes. The fires could burn him away, but not Khalon’s vengeance or sense of justice. Keiran and the Quantum Sons would all hear the name of their executioner. They will know The Defeater.