Letting the World Burn

  Letting The World Burn

  Graham Dalton

  Copyright © 2020 Graham Dalton

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  ISBN 978-1-6880811-7-8

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  It didn't matter what I did with his body, as long as I did what needed to be done. That's how it always was. My target hurt children, but not just any kids. He’d been hurting Elite children. Those babies were made in some tube, given the best traits their parents could afford. As a result, these people became prettier and more successful than any Commoner could dream of being.

  I couldn’t deny that I was a Commoner, but I wasn't going to work my life away in some factory or mine. I wasn't going to slave away just for my family to barely survive. I would do anything for a better life. Therefore, I worked under the Elites as their ‘cleaner.’ I was the one who made their problems go away. I eliminated the murderers, the rapists, the slavers, and anything else you could imagine.

  I did it all for the right price.

  There he was, my next target, Conrad Pyke. The governor had hired me to locate the person behind a child prostitution ring. After tracing a series of shady electronic transactions and dealing with dozens of his goons, my work finally led me to him. I'd already killed most of his associates.

  All I had to do now was eliminate Pyke.

  The gluttonous man hobbled up his pristine, gold-pebbled steps to his sprawling, four-story fuchsia house in the prissy suburbs. His scarlet and gold suit clung tightly to his jiggly body. Rolls of fat protruded from his thick waistline. Jeweled rings choked his thick, sausage-like fingers. Sweat drizzled off his triple chin as he waddled to his door. The man mouthed a word, and the titanium door slid open. He stepped inside. The door shut behind him.

  I slid a hand into my trench coat and wrapped my fingers around my revolver. I stepped out of my sedan, feeling the breeze of the chilled midnight air. Quietly, I approached his house, pushing through his wrought iron gate on his wiry fence. I stepped up to his door, and a friendly AI voice demanded a password.

  After the twenty-four hours I'd spent analyzing his behavior, I knew I could decipher the code. Conrad was a man of perverse pleasure. He'd just spent hours at a brothel, seducing every synthetic whore he could lay a greasy finger on. His password related to his pleasure-seeking escapades. The man was rather predictable, after all. I thought back and remembered the names of all the strippers at the club - Laura, Brittney, Diamond, Eliza, and Mary. That was it, Mary. I observed him earlier tonight, watching his eyes wander to that robotic stripper as she slid her long, thin legs over the metal pole. He licked his bulbous lips as he grabbed his crotch and watched her the whole night.

  “Mary,” I said.

  The door swung open, and I stepped into a brightly lit foyer. Glossy, ivory wallpaper coated the thick walls. Porcelain pillars of busty, headless female figures surrounded me. My feet clanked against the shiny, mahogany floor, as I walked forth.

  I stepped down a narrow hallway. Hideous portraits of gods and kings stared down at me with every step. This would be an easy kill. That gluttonous pig couldn’t run no matter how hard he tried. I would take my gun, stick it in his face, and blow his brains out. Easy. I was still surprised at how fat Elites could get. They were supposed to be the 'superior race’ after all.

  Even though this scumbag was an Elite, he still couldn't overcome his lavish, over-indulgent lifestyle. Pyke, at fifty- five years old, was a first generation Elite. The gene-altering software at the time of his creation was far from perfect. Many Elites from those years died prematurely from unforeseen complications once they reached forty. I'd heard that first- generation Elites had heart attacks at a rate of three times that of a Commoner. Later generations corrected that oversight.

  I walked forward, fishing out the revolver from my coat pocket. A man in a black suit stepped out of a room in front of me. He was far too ugly to be an Elite with his egg shaped face and crooked beak-like nose. He was probably another one of Pyke's Commoner goons. When he saw me, he reached for a pistol holstered around his waist. The man opened his mouth to say a word, but I wrapped both arms around his neck. He gagged and choked, struggling in a pathetic attempt to break free. A snap sounded. His body became limp, and I dropped him onto the floor. Screams sounded from upstairs.

  I quietly scurried forward. At the end of the hall, I swiftly stepped up a set of spiral stairs, into a large parlor room. Red, ornate sofas, with jewel-encrusted armrests, lined the room. They looked fancy, yet uncomfortable. To my left, there was a massive stone fireplace, choking on a mound of smoldering ash.

  I glanced toward my right. I heard another noise. There was more screaming, shouting. Glass shattered. I stepped toward the door, revolver in hand.

  A fair-skinned maid rushed out from the door in front of me.

  She buried her head into her palms as she softly sobbed. The maid turned to me, eyes widened.

  “I'm not here to hurt you,” I said, gun in hand. “I'm here to kill him.”

  “No, no, no,” she whispered softly. She put her hands up in the air and stared at me with big, watery eyes. “He's mean, but he pays well.”

  “You'll be fine,” I said to her. “You're pretty for a Commoner. I'm sure there are a hundred other Elites who would gladly take you in as a maid.” I pushed her to the side, and she tugged against my sleeve. Turning back, I snarled at her pretty, little face. “Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be.” I cleared my throat. “I have connections. I'll find an Elite who'll pay you double what he does. I promise.”

  She nodded silently while cowering in my presence. I didn't really care if she was going to be well compensated or not.

  All I wanted was for her to let me do my job.

  I walked forward. I pulled the door open and stepped into his room.

  Pyke sat on a golden couch that was lined with diamonds and jewels. He watched a TV mounted on the ivory wall. Nude statues of women surrounded the room, each missing its head. Golden ornaments dangled from the statues. A platinum chandelier, fitted with hundreds of gleaming diamonds, dangled overhead. I glanced toward a corner and saw a glass cup that had been shattered on the floor.

  He held a phone to his flat, pudgy ear while he held a cookie in the other hand. As he spoke, he spat chunks of crumbs out before him. The pieces of cookie sprayed out onto the mahogany floor.

  “What do you mean he's dead?” Conrad screamed. “Find who did this!” He threw the phone onto the floor. Cracks rippled down the screen as it smacked against the wood. “Kara, come in here! Kara!”

  The maid stepped into the room, but I turned to her and shook my head. She froze and nodded.

 
; I aimed my revolver toward him as he turned to face me. His eyes widened.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he asked.

  I pulled the trigger, slamming a bullet between his thin, pasty blue eyes. He collapsed into a heap on the ground. Killing Pyke was just a paycheck at the end of the day, but I’d be lying if his death didn’t give me great pleasure. There was no retribution for people like him, willingly complacent in the exploitation of children. Harming a child was the worst crime a man could ever commit.

  “T-thank you,” said the maid.

  She smiled, as she wrapped her arms around me, sobbing into my chest. I, instinctively, shoved her off and groaned.

  I heard screaming and shouting from downstairs. There were at least two men, probably more of his security. I groaned and rolled my eyes. I tightened my grip around my gun. Kara turned to me.

  “Just stay here,” I said.

  I stepped out into the parlor room. As two men raced up the steps, I fired a couple shots with my revolver. Both bullets slammed into their heads. The two men collapsed dead. I lowered my gun and waited for a few moments. That was the last of them.

  I was always a good shot. After all, I'd lived most of my childhood in the slums, having to fight just to stay alive.

  I turned to the maid and gestured her over. “How many security guards does he have?” I asked.

  “Just three,” she said.

  “Counting the one I took out earlier,” I said shrugging. “That should be all of them.”

  My mission was nearly over. There was just the matter of taking care of the four corpses. I pulled out a lighter from my pocket and turned to her.

  “Stay quiet,” I ordered.

  I stood in the manor, clicking my lighter against the wood. Flames shot up, dancing along the wood. The woman muttered soft words of horror while the flames continued to spread. Dancing embers swirled around the room. Golden spikes of fire stretched toward the ceiling. She continued to weep out cries.

  I turned to her. The light of the flames licked her pale, trembling flesh. I gestured her toward the stairs, and she rushed forth and scurried ahead of me. I shrugged and slowly made my way down the stairs. I walked a few steps forward with the sound of the flames cackling behind me.

  I stepped outside and saw the miserable woman lying on the ground with her hands on her head, muttering a somber prayer. I walked past her and made my way to my sedan. After jumping into the driver’s seat, I jammed my keys into the ignition.

  She knocked on my window. I turned and sighed, rolling down the glass.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “C-can you take me to the slums?” she asked.

  I hesitated for a moment and I sighed again. “Yeah, sure.”

  “T-thank you,” she said. She scurried around my sedan and hopped into the passenger side. The woman sat as far away from me as she could with her body mushed up against the door.

  I drove off as the whole building erupted in flames.

  The city's fire department of underpaid Commoners would quickly react to a burning building on the Elite side of town. I knew that we had to get moving before too many authorities showed up.

  She didn’t say a word to me during our whole drive, but I suppose it was best that way. There was nothing I had to say, and I was sure that there was nothing for her to say either. The quiet felt nice. The only sound I could hear was the gentle purr of my engine.

  I drove the car down a few streets through the Elite district. The newest residences were always the biggest. Elites were locked in a constant contest for who had the most wealth and the most lavish accommodations.

  We approached a tall, steel gate. This gate kept unauthorized Commoners from visiting the wealthy districts. Luckily, I had a card to cross the gate, but most Commoners were stranded on the other side. I flashed by badge to a couple security guards. They nodded, and the gate opened.

  After driving through the gate, the world changed. The perfumed, flowery scent of the Elite districts gave way to the stench of smoke and mold. The first few blocks leading out from the gate were for middle-class Commoners, such as myself. It wasn't nearly as glamorous to live here as the Elite districts, but it was as good as it got. I parked on the side of the road beside my apartment.

  “This is as far as I go.”

  She rushed out of the sedan. I shrugged and stayed in my seat for a few moments, listening to the still silence of the midnight air. I was alone, just as I deserved.

  I stepped out of the sedan and walked up to my apartment.

  “H-hey, sir!” she called out from behind. I groaned and turned around. She stood in the street, still shaking. Her hands rubbed awkwardly against one another. “Do you have any place where I could go? I-I don’t really have any family, anymore. Most of ‘em died during that last sickness.”

  I paused for a moment and stepped back down to see her. Well, she probably would stop pestering me if I gave her some money to shut up. I reached into my coat pocket. She held up her hands like I was going to pull a gun on her. I pulled out my wallet and waved a few large bills in the air.

  Her eyes widened, and her arms lowered. I handed her the bills.

  “T-thank you, sir,” she said. “T-the name’s Kara, and I’m sure...you’ve got…you’ve got connections with the Elites. Kara Powell, I am! Please, I, uh, need the money. I’m a good maid. A…a real good maid! Swear on my family’s grave!”

  I paused for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do.” She nodded and scurried off.

  I walked up a few floors in my apartment building and scanned my key card against my apartment door, 367J. I stepped inside and walked over to the liquor cabinet. I opened the drawer and took out a bottle of rum. From there, I watched television in my living room until I passed out.

  I awoke in an achy haze the next morning. The sun stunned my eyes. My head throbbed as I stumbled onto my feet. I realized that I should go visit Governor Mattis and collect my reward for killing Pyke.

  I walked back to my car. Once, I nestled myself into my seat, I sighed. For several moments, I sat there by myself. The middle-class Commoners shuffled through the streets in their tailored suits while they prepared to go to work as servants of the Elites in their sad, monotonous routines.

  I thrust my keys into the ignition, and the engine softly purred. I drove back out into the streets and toward the governor's mansion.

  The governor was far from the most popular man in the city. Commoners called him corrupt and money hungry, and they weren't wrong. The governor often joked about his corruption. There was nothing the Commoners could do to overthrow him. The only people who could vote in this city were Elites, and the governor ensured his genetically modified friends were well compensated.

  I drove up to the gate, flashed my badge, and drove several blocks to the governor's mansion.

  His manor towered above tangled fields of sprawling flowers. A road of silver pebbles led up a winding path to his vermilion manor. Twenty-foot tall fencing stretched around his spacious land. To the right of the mansion was a sprawling lot where his three dozen vehicles were all parked. Most had likely never been driven.

  I drove into the lot, parked the car, and stepped out. Two black-suited security personnel greeted me kindly before escorting me inside. They led me through hallway after hallway until I arrived at Governor Mattis' office.

  Governor Mattis sat behind an ivory desk, smiling a gold-toothed smile. Leather-bound books were stuffed into brass bookcases that lined the circular room. Tinted windows overlooked the flowering meadows below where dozens of Commoners sweated away. A red-and-gold rug was sprawled across the floor. A voluptuous, dark-skinned woman in a white gown sat on a crimson leather chair beside his desk. She turned to me and smiled.

  Mattis jumped from his seat. His curly, golden hair bounced as he crossed over to me. His bulging muscles stretched his tight-fitting purple velvet suit. He was nearing forty, but he still looked to be in his late teens.

  “The job is done,” I said.
“Where’s the money?”

  “Ah, the money. It's always about the money,” he said. Mattis snapped at one of his guards, a seven-foot-tall, dark- skinned man who towered over everyone else. “Francis, fetch the briefcase!” The guard nodded and walked off. Mattis turned to the woman in a white gown. She rose to her feet, smiling.

  “Quincy, I'd like to introduce you to Marie Harper, President of the Genesis Corporation.”

  The Genesis Corporation was the company behind the genetically modified Elite babies. I could remember a time when most people viewed such modifications as unethical. I would watch these reports about the dangerous applications for such procedures. People claimed that humanity had gone too far and that people were trying to ‘play God.’

  “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir,” she said. “Your reputation precedes you.” She walked over to me with her high heels squishing into the rug, “You know, Mr. Abrams, I might need someone with your skill set.”

  Francis returned with a silver briefcase. He had a long, combed beard that stretched down to his chest. His eyes were big and milky with pale blue pupils.

  “Took you long enough!” Mattis screamed.

  “I'm sorry, sir,” Francis said, bowing his head in shame. Mattis looked away, and Francis grumbled something beneath his breath.

  “Oh, I'm sorry, sir,'” Mattis said in a mocking voice, snapping his head back toward Francis. “I told you. I don't like to wait! Be quicker next time!” The governor stomped over toward his assistant. He slapped a hand across Francis, who kept still.

  Francis crossed over to me and held out an arm. I snatched the brief case from his hand. Francis bowed and hurried back to stand beside the governor. I glanced over to Mattis.

  “By any chance, do you know anyone that needs a maid?” I asked.

  He turned back to me and smiled. “Well, I just had to fire mine. She was such a useless bitch!”

  “I might have a replacement for you,” I said. “Her name's Kara Powell. She used to be Conrad Pyke's maid. She wasn't half-bad from what I hear.” She would probably be miserable working under Mattis, but at least it was a job.