CHAPTER ONE

The Steep & Savage Path The Fringe District Amaranthe, 2342 CE Present Day Condemned, Silver is left on the bridge to the Fringe District, her wrist still gushing blood. Moments ago, the delicate skin of her inner left wrist was sliced open with a scalpel and a small, platinum colored microchip was expertly removed. That tag was her life story, containing every detail of her life from the day of her birth to the last time she ordered a cup of coffee. Formerly a Commander in an elite military institution called the Hunter Division, she is now a prisoner. Relegated to the Fringe District, she joins the ranks of the banished. A criminal, or so she is accused of being, shes cut off from her friends and family and left to fend for herself in this fetid, dank scrap of Old World land that was once called Staten Island. Now, more than three hundred years after a global war changed the dynamic of our planet forever, humans are beginning to make their resurgence. This place, Amaranthe, is the first reclaimed human citybut Silver is not its first victim. Standards for occupation in the city are high, and many dont make the cut. If youre considered unworthy, any excuse will be usedany small indiscretion exposedto place you before the Banishment and Enforcement Council. In Silvers case, shes lucky to have been banished. In Amaranthes poorly constructed, two-tiered judicial system, her sentence could just as easily have been enforcement. Capital punishment. Death via bullet. Fortunately, the man who raised her holds some sway in the government. Not enough to keep her from facing the gavel, but enough to keep her from facing the gun. Amaranthes governing body, the totalitarian Omega administration, is a harsh and cruel master, feared by all who dwell within its jurisdiction. Left with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a few small weapons, Silver begins the lonesome walk toward her new Fringe District life. Her Hunter Division boots are the last identifiable remnants of her prior occupation. Stained with blood and dirt, the Omega emblems are hard to make out on the scuffed steel plates decorating the backs of the heels. Her well-worn jeans are made from a mixture of hemp, which flourishes rampantly in the New World, and paraaramid synthetic fiberKevlar. Designed to last for up to a decade of use, this pair has seen at least three rotations of the year already. Theyve survived countless days spent off-duty, romping in the playground of the unreclaimed world outside Amaranthes secure walls, often finding themselves covered in dirt and mud, and Chimeran blood. Chimera. The creatures generations of humansincluding Silverhave been bred to kill. Born in the aftermath of a nuclear war, they were human once until their humanity was lost over centuries of rapid genetic mutations. During this time, ninety-nine percent of all living things on Earth died, yet the Chimera proved to be an adaptive and resilient new species.

Outnumbering this small population of humans by 25:1, the Chimera lurk in the shadows, scavenging for food in the places where human feet no longer dare to tread. Ferocious meat-eaters, they will hunt alone or in packs, and human is their prey of choice. Kill, or be killed. A motto of the Hunter Division whose job it is, among other things, to destroy Chimera so that Amaranthe can continue to expand. Not to mention, the whole city relies on the Hunter Division kills. Chimera is the only source of fresh meat, and no part of the animal is wasted. Their hide makes good leather, and many things can be made from bone. Some live specimens are even farmed for their milk. Today, though, Silvers jeans are clean. Held in the detainment corridor for almost a month prior to her sentencing, shes had no time to play. Affixed to the belt loops, a utility belt contains holsters for a hunting knife, a handgun and two spare clips of 9mm ammunition. The knife, recently sharpened, bears a ferocious steel blade and a jet black handle custom inlayed with a sterling silver designan Ella Cross . This is Silvers trademark; her territorial stamp. Not only is it an ancient Old World symbol, once known as a warrior shield, its a pictorial representation of her birth name. Ella Cross was born twenty-eight years ago. Silver was forged in battle, when she joined the Hunter Division. Her handgun, an HK USP, also custom engraved, is silver-plated and bears her birth fathers initials. It never leaves her side, and his old Hunter Division dog tags never leave her wrist. They bear his name and rank, stamped DECEASED over top. Her own set of dog tags still hang around her neck, despite her most recent fall into unemployment. Stamped DISCHARGED, she tucks them inside her shirtboth pairs: the ones bearing her name, and another set bearing the name of the lover she may never see again. Alexander King has been hers since the day she first laid eyes on him, but now theyre separated by one impassable bridge. Only Omega employees can walk freely between the two polar opposite worlds on either side, and Alex was discharged from the Hunter Division, just like Silver. Though, with his spotless professional record, he was unable to be charged with anything more serious than engaging in a prohibited relationship with his unit Commander. Thus, he was spared banishment. Suddenly aware of the pain in her wrist, Silver pulls out a strip of gauze given to her by the surgeon and wraps it tightly around her oozing stitches. Better than nothing, she surmises. Her fingers wet with her own blood, she backhands some stray wisps of dark blonde hair away from her face. Always in a pony tail, her hair could go days without brushing and youd barely even notice. Shes beautiful, of course, but not like the girls in Old World magazines. Raised for the Hunter Division, shes tall and strong. Her shoulders carry a strength that could put some lesser men to shame, and her face hasnt seen a lick of make-up since her sixteenth birthday. Sharp, silver eyes look out upon the world with a new found cynicism, and her lips are fully prepared never to smile again. Fuck em, she thinks. Fuck Omega, and the lies theyve smeared her with. Fuck truth and justice, and all the things shes ever fought for. Fuck love, and all the pain thats brought her. Fuck dying, like they hope she will. Shes armed, and ready. With steel boots, a steel blade, a stone cold heart and three full clips of hollow points, shes got enough to take on the Fringe District for today, at leastand shes not prepared to go down without a fight. This place is rough, like the worst neighborhood

youve ever been to, times a thousand. It wouldnt be uncommon for an easier mark to be killed in the street for the hat on their head, or the loaf of bread in their hand. Fortunately, though, Silvers no fool. Combat trained from the age of five, she can take on a man twice her size, and her agility and stamina will out-maneuver him every time. She has that, and confidencein the bucket loads. Reaching the foot of the bridge, Silver receives her first welcome: a barrage of signs and graffiti intended to drive away those who have come to gloat, or to abuse. Since its inception, the Fringe District has been more than just a prison land, and within it the prisonersthe banished run rampant. Success of the banished population, on such a scale, was simply not anticipated; longevity was not considered. In a place crawling with disease, and with the complete lack of an established healthcare system, the predicted mortality rate was high. Breeding was not part of the plan, and by the time it became a noticeable problem, it was already too late. The Fringer population was thriving, despite their circumstances. Stricter penalties in the Sentinel District ensure more banishments each successive year, but births in the prison District still outnumber new inmates at a growing ratio of 1000:1. Hope of something better was abandoned long ago. Behind every depraved, grotesque, and often illegal action you may witness, there is one prime motivator: survival, at all costs. An every-man-for-himself mentality exists here, in the extreme, and this desperation is routinely exploited by the Hunters and Police Division Agents who frequent these parts for their own entertainment. Prostitution. Drugs. Gambling. Pit fights. Everything prohibited in Omegas superficial utopia, the Sentinel District, is available in the Fringe if youre willing to pay for it, or if you have the strength to take it by force. Though, it should be said, this approach seldom has a happy ending for the aggressor, and the row of decapitated heads on spikes at the entrance to the Fringe is a testament to that. You cross these peoplethe Fringersat your own risk, because they will retaliate. For all their faults and the civil disorder that abounds here, violence perpetrated by outsiders is simply not tolerated. A crime against one is a crime against all, and from this simple understanding, a system of reciprocity has arisen. Hunters routinely exchange meat for cannabis or liquor. Weapons are also traded across the borderfor sexual favors, mostly. A Hunter will sneak a Striker 12 shotgun out of the Omega Armory and smuggle it into the Fringe where hell pay a whores Handler for an hour or two of her time. The Handler, in turn, will sell the shotgun to the highest bidder for money, or some other valuable commodity. There are no philanthropists here. No charity, no compassion, only merchants and consumers, and Silver knows precisely what to expect. For a time, she and her fellow Hunters ran a pit fight ring in the back room of a seedy little Fringe District bar. A butcher shop. A place where Chimera are starved for days before being let loose in a ring and provoked to fight it out with others of their kind, in front of an audience. Bets are taken on the outcome, and the Hunters who bring in the animals are given a commission or free merchandisewhichever they prefer.

Making her way through streets of cracked tarmac, between rows of crumbling Old World buildings, Silver becomes aware of her own audience. Eyes watch her from windows and doorways, fascinated by the new arrival. Her face may look familiar to some, but the lack of a Hunter Division uniform has many residents confused. No Hunter in their right mind would dare step foot in this District without wearing their emblems. The emblems command respect, even here. The Fringers rely on the Hunters, and vice versa. Police Division Agents fare less well, but only because its their job to patrol the District and punish those caught violating the terms of their banishment. See, Omega will give you three chances. If you keep to yourself and dont cause a fuss, you can live out your whole life here. You can meet someone, have a family, and raise your little ones in squalor and poverty. No controlled healthcare, no education system, just curbside lessons in how not to get yourself killed. Its not ideal, but its better than dead, which is what you will be if you start dabbling in anything deemed overtly subversive by Omega. This includesbut is not limited tothe manufacture of explosives, trading in high velocity weapons, murder, theft, cannibalism, and not paying your bills on time. Apparently, rape is okay; its never been on the list. If youre arrested more than three times, youll be immediately enforced. Say goodnight. Your time is up. No trial, no sentencing, simply taken to the enforcement bay and shot, like a rabid dog. A corpse on the street with a self-inflicted gunshot wound through his mouth, severing his brain stem, is a reminder to Silver of the only other way out of the Fringe District. Suicide. This man didnt even wait it out. Banishment papers still in his hand, he didnt even make it past the first block before he gave up on whatever dismal future he had left. Crouching beside his body, Silver reaches for the banishment papers. Corporate fraud. He looks like a banker, and Silver isnt surprised; he wouldnt have survived a day here anyway. Tossing the papers back onto the ground, she notices his left wristslit open. Fresh stitches have been ripped apart, and his prison tag removed. Rippers. The black market for these borrowed tags is huge business, and Rippers find themselves in constant demand. Fringers with three strikes on their record, and a warrant out for their arrest and enforcement, will pay any price for a clean tag. Silver hesitates before she checks the mans pockets. Nothing. Youre too late, a voice growls at her from the street, laughing. He was picked apart before he even hit the ground. Silver looks up to find shes no longer alone. Whether its the lack of emblems or the dripping bandage around her wrist, the locals seem to have realized her altered status here. Having just caught her attempting to rob a corpse, their suspicions have been validated. The voice belongs to a man in his mid-thirties, dirty and reeking of something rotten. Hes missing several teeth, and his pants are at least three inches too short. None of that, though, is as disturbing as the bloodstained butcher knife in his right hand.

Standing straight up, Silver matches his height and satisfies herself that hes not much of a threat. Hes lean, weighing no more than a hundred and fifty-five pounds. Her five-ten frame has ten pounds of extra muscle on him and she has a gun, if she even needs it. Bursting her personal bubble of space, he squares right up to her, the stench of him almost making her eyes water. Hunter? he asks for clarification. Not anymore. He pokes the tip of his butcher knife against her bandaged wrist, assuring himself of the facts. One of us, then, he determines, with a cruel grin. Nothing so special about you now. His attempt to provoke her fails, and she answers him in calm monotone. Believe me, there never was. Silence drifts in between them as he casts his eyes up and down her, rolling his discolored tongue over his lower lip. Its slightly purple, and covered in a thick yellowy slime; a symptom of some chronic illness, no doubt. Rape, Silver remembers, is not on the list. Dont even think about it, asshole, she warns him. I may not wear the emblems anymore, but Ive spent my entire life killing things. Adding a lousy little prick like you to the list would be no big deal. Though he doesnt seem fazed by her threat, he takes a step back. Emblems or not, he knows better than to try and screw with a trained killer. He understands his place in this world, and is acutely aware that his survival depends upon making allies out of muscle like hers, and not forging yet more enemies. Which is just as well, since Silvers threat was nothing more than a well-sold bluff. She doesnt kill humans. Hunters kill monsters to protect humans, and shed never be able to pull the trigger on her own kind. Giving her more space, the scummy Fringer backs away. Move on, then, Hunter. He takes a step closer to the bankers corpse, placing himself between it and Silver. Find your own dinner. Silver opens her mouth to question him, but doesnt get the chance to speak before he slams the butcher knife down into the chest of the corpse, tearing open a deep gash and cracking apart the ribs with his bare hands. Mmm, dinner. Silver suppresses her gag reflex and begins to move away, wanting no part in the twisted butchery about to take place. Chimera will eat their own kind if hunger drives them to it, but for a human to do the same It destroys Silvers perfect view of the divide between human and animal, and she finds it deeply disturbing. An hour or so later, after winding through alley ways and streets cluttered with debris and human filth, Silver finds herself facing a theatre. Shes been here before, though its been a while. All that secures the front entrance is a padlock, and shes surprised to find it still intact. Looters have moved through this way before, countless times, and theres nothing of value left here. Perhaps they sense that, so they leave well enough alone. Perhaps they recognize the Ella Cross etched onto the door, and theyd rather keep their distance.

The Fringe District is filled with runic code; a pictographic language used to convey simple messages to one another, without drawing the attention of the Police Division. A sign on a doorway, such as this, marks territoryand Silvers no stranger to the District. Some Fringers will already be aware of her unique mark and should, therefore, have the good sense to keep their hands to themselves or stand to face the consequences of their meddling. She lets herself inside and bolts the door behind her. Without working electricity, this portion of the theatre, with its boarded up windows, is pitch black. Stumbling over rubble and litter, Silver makes her way toward the staircase and ascends to the first floor. Here, an old function room lies in tatters. Bar stools are broken and discarded left, right and centre, and the bar itself is a shambles of shattered glass and empty bottles. A rat scurries past her toward the kitchen; a mess of battered appliances half beaten to shit. Another staircase takes her further upward, toward a self-contained apartment above the theatre. She tries the handle and finds it locked, just as shed left it. Digging in her back pocket she pulls out a key and turns it in the lock, jiggling it and wiggling it, until the rusty mechanism finally releases with a satisfying click and a snap. Stepping inside, she barely has time to register anything about the room at all. Smash! An Old World vase crashes into the wall beside her head and explodes into a hundred tiny pieces of shrapnel. Moments later, a metal fork. Four steel prongs hit the wall at full speed and dig at least a centimeter into the crumbling drywall. What the ? Silver turns into the room just in time to see a pillow, infested with rat feces and urine, flying toward her face. She deflects that with a swift right hand and throws it down onto the floor. Stop! she yells, before any other missiles can be aimed in her direction. On the other side of the room, a petite and frail-looking woman backs herself away from Silver. Anorexically thin, the woman weighs no more than eighty-five pounds when she should easily weigh about forty more. Barefoot, she seems not to notice the sharp debris beneath her feet. Atop skinny legs, a pillow case is torn lengthways and wrapped around her waist, fastened there with an old piece of rope. Her upper body is bare, except for a thick leather jacket, lined with Kevlar. Silvers jacket. Embroidered on the breast pocket is her Hunter Division name and rank and, of course, the Omega emblems. The woman is shivering and frightened. Her naturally platinum blonde hair is covered with dirt and leaves, matted almost into dreadlocks. Unable to control her shaking hands, she pulls the jackether only comforttight around herself, keeping her small breasts concealed. Her mouth is covered in blood; fresh blood, dripping down her chin. At first, Silver is concerned. Is she hurt? What the hell happened? She doesnt need to wait for an answerits not the womans blood. Theres a dead crow on the bed.

Mutilated beyond almost all recognition, the crows wings have been pulled off and its head is almost completely severed. Feathers are scattered everywhere, ripped from its flesh by eager fingers and teeth, tearing open the belly to consume the meat inside. Oh, fuck For the second time today, Silver suppresses a sudden urge to vomit. Its weird to say, but this is only the second most disturbing thing Ive seen since I got here. The woman shrugs. I was hungry. Silver didnt expect that. Suddenly, the woman whos never said a word not only understands English, but knows how to speak it. What did you say? The woman takes another step back, suddenly wary. I said I was hungry. I didnt think you were coming back. Since when do you talk? Fear compelling her back into muteness again, the woman looks back at Silver in silence, her strikingly bright, violet eyes slowly filling up with tears. Finally, Why arent you wearing your uniform? I dont work for them anymore. Silence. Does that mean youll stay this time? the woman sounds hopeful. Silver doesnt answer, and the answer wouldnt mean much even if she did. Shell stay, but not out of choice. The woman accepts her silence as a small win; an opportunity for coercion, at least. She slips in beside Silver and wraps her cold, bloody fingers around Silvers warm hand. If you stay, Ill tell you everything.