Witts End was a mess of fake Tudor buildings, ending on a humpback bridge that spanned a chalk stream. Over time, the cobbled boulevard became the new high street and twisted around a Swiss clock tower at the foot of a steep hill. Fee had arrived close to midday, dressed in yellow Gingham and a Straw Mary hat; arriving at a time when the naked sun was at its most fierce. On her way through the town centre, she nodded to the workers of her favourite clothing shops, avoided the skeezer kids in their scuffed trucks who hung by the benches and passed the noisy buskers, keeping cool in Board shorts and Bucket Hats. Somewhere in this choke of commerce, a swampy bass of boom-box speakers crackled out from a nearby shopping centre. After a brief detour, she made her way to the Square Chip café set in the middle of a shaded passageway. Were it not for the sandwich board at the mouth of the alley, the entrance would have been almost undetectable. Entering the Tea Room, she was hit with the scent of grilled cheese, mint and whatever puffed out of the customers’ electronic smokers. The interior was adorned with Moroccan-style chandeliers and large Trumeau mirrors on the walls. The front of the counter hosted a patchwork of old Motherboards, behind an array of faded white teardrop stools. After ordering a bamboo tray of seaweed crackers, she spotted Rick at the corner table. He was sipping an iced coffee with grated strawberry in a highball glass. There was a look of consternation on his face, almost like he was waiting for something while old messages scrolled up on his phone. He gave Fee a brief nod before picking at a bowl of banana chips.

  "Nice hat, " he said. Try the chicken croissant; it's very more-ish. Don't bother about WiFi; there isn't any."

  A sign above read: 'Life is short, but conversation isn't. Talk to each other. (<3) '

  "I finished the game." Fee said.

  “In record time, too. Most gamers take at least a week."

  "I guess I was either determined or really tired."

  "I guess," Rick said. "What did you win?" Fee plucked out the ticket with two fingers. "Coordinates? Great. Good luck with that."

  "We should see where it leads." She said.

  "What if it turns out to be a big, scary demon?"

  "Then I'll call Mum."

  Rick let out a mirthless laugh.

  "It wouldn't be a fair fight for the demon." He said. "Let me see that again."

  He held it up to the light in the hopes there was secret message written.

  "Invisible ink?" Fee said. "Seriously?"

  "Sometimes the oldest tricks are the best. What machine printed this?"

  "Some shiny black thing with red bulbs. No instructions, just a random thing in the basement."

  "I thought it was like a power unit. Hmph, random is right."

  "At first, I was thinking it was a code you type on a website," Fee said, nibbling on a cracker. "I looked up ‘Mendacium’ online. Apparently, it's a big deal, something about MMO?"

  "Yeah, one of the biggest," Rick said. "Okay, so your dad has a secret basement with an arcade, and the winner gets this?" He held up the ticket with two fingers. "What did your mum think?"

  "I haven't seen her today."

  "She won't be happy with you pissing about after the last time."

  "She'll understand."

  Rick lowered his voice. "Last time we went to a mystery location, everything kicked off. Next time, it could be worse, like dead worse. Something is messing with you, and you'll walk right into a trap?"

  "Dad's notebook was in a car locked in a garage for over a decade. Pretty sure whatever trap was planned is in bits by now."

  "Trap is still a trap," Rick said. He threw down a screwed up napkin onto the counter. "Ah, to hell with it, let's go. I was going to waste a day feeling sorry for myself, may as well get some exercise."

  "See?" Fee said, brightening up. "That's the kind of enthusiasm I was looking for."

  "I'll have to swing by the flat first," Rick said. "My sister will be there, I hope you don't mind."

  "Why would I mind?" Fee said. "She only threatened me with a knife the last time.”

  Rick rubbed his temple. "I have talked to her about that, any more surprises, and she's living with my aunt. Trust me, I would not wish that on anyone."

  "I like how you keep giving her a pass, despite all the crappy things she does."

  "What can I do? She's family. If I throw her out, she’ll get worse."

  "I can imagine worse things happening if Mum found out."

  "I hear that," Rick said. He stood up and stretched. "I need a whizz,"

  “Don’t announce it, just go.”

  While Rick was absent, Fee glanced at the customer to her left. He was a tall man in a mime's long-sleeve t-shirt, round spectacles and a flat cap. What drew her eye was the moustache he had pencilled under his mouth with two straight lines.

  "What's with the moustache?" She said.

  "I am being ironic." The man replied haughtily.

  "What does that mean?"

  "It's a joke."

  "But you're the only one in on the joke?"

  "Yes,"

  "So, you're just an idiot?" Fee said.

  Hit with a realisation, the stranger stood up.

  "Excuse me."

  Fee sipped her drink. "What a nice man."

  A few minutes later, Rick arrived, rubbing his hands on his jeans.

  "Let's bounce." He said. "Do people still say 'bounce?' "

  "You tell me,” Fee said, gathering her bag. “You’re the hood-rat."

  ***

  The Steppe Tenements stood as a former shopping centre in the slum-like district of Paganside. There had been a concerted effort to make the place close to residential. Every new flat was the same size, with shop windows removed, bricked up, and bolstered with sheet-crete for extra protection. Rick parked somewhere near the entrance. He was soon joined by Fee, who slowed the Cortina to a crawl before stopping in one of the grassy bays. Slightly overwhelmed, she grabbed her bag and closed the door.

  "Aren't you going to lock it?" Rick asked.

  Fee tossed him a shrug.

  "No point." She said, almost robotically.

  They took a right at the main entrance, a boarded-up barricade adorned with graffiti and scorched tags from a Molotov cocktail.

  Through a turnstile, the canal entrance reeked with putrefaction. It smelled like something had died inside another thing that was already dead.

  Fee covered her mouth as they passed the circular plaza with its overgrown concentric brickwork, lined with tall blades of grass.

  In the corner of the plaza wall, old bed frames were stacked in a twisted tangle of rusted springs that formed a weird amalgamation of a pyramid. It could have passed as art if anyone were so inclined. Through the suffocating waft of a chemical spill, Rick broke the silence with a question.

  "Who was that guy you were talking to?" He asked.

  "Some old dude." Fee said. Rick flashed a sideways smile. "What? Come on, he must have been like thirty-eight."

  "He looked like an interior decorator," Rick said. "An interior decorator named Hamish. Now, Hamish wears a beanie hat indoors, owns a framed poster of a French New Wave film (he’s never seen), and never shuts up about 'The contemporary feel'."

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  "Ooh."

  "He's the sort of guy who brings a typewriter to a coffee bar and pretends it's the most natural thing in the world. He will sniff a vinyl record and tell you it was from a record shop in Camden, but it's not there any more."

  Fee smiled and blew her nose.

  "Alright, check this out." She said. "His girlfriend's name is India. She makes cupcakes and posts them online with the best filter." Rick nodded. "She goes to Glastonbury, avoids the mud and is never part of the crowd, but always gets her face painted to show her ‘wild’ side."

  "Oh Indy, you so quirky."

  "She will almost certainly have one of those fake jobs that rich people give themselves to sound useful: Party planner, Lifestyle guru or Hedge fund manager.”

  "One more thing you forgot," Rick said, pausing in his stride.

  "Oh! Oh!" Fee said. "Hot Cocoa!”

  "Yes!"

  "India's favourite thing to do online is to nurse an oversized mug, while looking out at the stars." Fee affected a dreamy, moon-maiden voice: "We are all someone's future past life."

  The pair of them laughed.

  "We are evil," Rick said.

  "So evil." Fee said. The merriment soon petered out, giving them time to look up at the ruinous Hell-scape that passed for an entrance. "Let's get this over with."

  She took his hand and they mounted the steps, crunching over a pool of broken glass. Passing through stalled automatic doors, she wondered how many people had tumbled onto these shards. The interior was an average-looking shopping mall comprising of three levels and a vast open complex with walkways and bricked-up elevators. Moss and lichen were widespread, with unkempt greenery hanging down like an Aztec ruin. The gloom was pierced with several columns of sunlight, while bulkhead lights lined the graffiti-laden walls and flickered in abundance. Whenever she came here, Fee would peer up at the collection of large birdcages suspended from the ceiling. There were ten cages for the ten planets of the Solar System. The latest –Minerva - had recently been discovered by a group of Puerto Rican scientists while observing an anomaly resembling a giant eye. Sheets of rainwater cascaded down from on high. Somewhere, a dog barked, and the mournful lament of a distant Saxophone could be heard from the upper levels. Everything smelled of wet earth and damp. Rick's place was an old watch shop turned shotgun apartment. What was left of the Neon sign winked out from the gloom.

  "She's still here." He said. "God knows if she is up yet."

  "It's one in the afternoon." Fee said.

  "Yeah, so fifty-fifty I'll say."

  Rick unlocked the front door and fed the key into a thick Iron Gate, which always reminded Fee of a Wild West jail. He slid the gate back into the recess of the wall, and the two of them wandered in. The front hallway always hit them with the odour of dead leather from fish tanks filled with old shoes. The lounge area was made smaller by empty plates and video machines, while five cartons of imported Lithuanian cigarettes were stacked by the ratty corduroy couch. Next to the couch, sat a pale woman curled up in a wicker seat suspended from a hospital hoist. Crystal Pie was a rake-thin woman in her twenties, with gaunt features and scarlet rings around her round amber eyes. She wore men's boxers and a Grindcore t-shirt. B4TBG was tattooed on top of the left arm in thick black lettering, while S4TST adorned the right, perfectly symmetrical. Other tattoos were found on her hands, with linked capacitors that followed the metacarpal bones. Her head was buzzed to the scalp on one side, while the other half was a mane of pitch black hair flowing down to her chin. Rick took one look and dumped his crash helmet on the kitchen counter.

  "Cris, what the hell?"

  "Ehh, you're back!" Crystal said. She quickly smiled, flashing a dull set of teeth like a string of pearls found in an abandoned house. "You like it? Found it in an old hospital, just sitting there."

  "There's barely enough room for your crap and you're bringing more?"

  Her mood dimmed, and she gestured with a spoon.

  “You said you were cool with it." She said.

  Fee always found the woman's dialect hard to place. Sometimes a Welsh accent would break out, and then fold into something from the North.

  "Did you even wash it?" Rick asked.

  "It's a hospital, dumb ass. It's bound to be clean."

  "Wait, are those my boxers?"

  "Yeah. Sorry, all my undies are dirty."

  Rick palmed his face. That kind of info was need-to-know.

  "Why is your dirty stuff still here? There's an Auto-L right opposite."

  "Well, I would of, but I was busy getting this thing in. I had to offer some local boys.” Rick's glare now reached full beams. “Never mind. Now, if you can do me a solid..."

  "I think you've had enough solids."

  The woman laughed, which fell into a dry cough.

  "You're starting to sound like Mum, " she said, noticing Fee. The woman gave a friendly wave. "Hey, look who it is. Remember me?"

  "The girl who threatened me with a knife?" Fee said. "Rings a bell."

  "That was just me being cordial."

  "That's nice. Let's never become friends."

  The woman put aside the salad bowl and slinked over to Fee.

  "You say that now, but I think we are going to get along just fine," Crystal said. She spoke calmly, with an underlying menace that reminded Fee of a cartoon Tiger.

  "Leave her alone, Cris," Rick said. "Alright, two minutes. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

  "Each other ?" Fee said, but he was already on his way out. Crystal snorted a laugh and returned to the cartoon.

  Fee found herself distracted by the television, despite the show being frantic and hard to follow.

  “What are you watching?" She asked

  The tall woman eyed her coldly.

  "Star Bleed, it's like a sci-fi with planes and robots."

  "Any good?"

  "Not as good as the original," Crystal said, sneering. "The series is trash because the writers are trash. It’s a universal truth that only the creator decides the back-story; everything else is just fan fiction.” She then smiled and kicked away a footstool. "Check it out. You will love this." She reached down and grabbed an instrument case from underneath the couch. "This here is a prototype. I got it clean from a vendor in the Presidio. You ever been there? Place is stacked, man. Stacked. Up." She paused before unsnapping the latches. "They got machines there that can tell your accent from a whistle. Blow your tiny mind. Oh hey, you want a beer? "

  "I'm good," Fee said.

  Opening the velour-lined case, Crystal held up a weapon Fee had never seen before. The stock resembled a caulk gun, and the barrel was unusually shaped, like a heating element from a washing machine.

  "It's called 'Snowstorm, '" Crystal said. "I am told it'll reduce anything to a fine powder, you dig?" She felt the weight with both hands. "Got a bunch of unsanctioned Alien tech from R&D, waiting for the word. Stuff goes missing; inventories have to be rewritten to keep the books legit. God's eye is always watching us. Now we dance with strangers. Human scientists teaming up with greys, what a time to be alive."

  "Why do you have it here?"

  "The people I know, they ain't no prom dates," Crystal said quietly. "They come in waves. Angry waves, gotta be careful." For the first time, Fee saw white points of anxiety in the woman's eyes. A dim fractal of a lost personality. It quickly dissipated with another hard sniff. "Like I said, just a prototype, but it could backfire and turn us all into cotton candy. Cotton on the wind." Her laugh had a rough edge to it; a smoker’s laugh. She snapped the lid down and returned the case to the underside of the couch. "Bro don't need to know, it'll keep him safe from the badness. The bad shine." She caressed Fee's chin with long red nails, sharp enough to decollate a tiny bird.

  "Are you going to kill me?"

  "Heh," Crystal whispered. "Hush now."

  Rick rushed in carrying a beekeeper's hat.

  "Crystal! I told you to get rid of those damn hives."

  "And I told you they are an investment."

  "You still keep bees in the flat?" Fee said.

  "Protection, my girl. When they're around, no one messes with my paint-chips"

  Paint-Chips were the latest narcotic craze. Brazilian Nitrate was expensive to produce, so the chem-heads had found a cheaper synthetic. Local Junk-boys known as Hansell-First ran the 'chips out of Pagan-side.

  "For the last time," Rick said. "No-one is going to grab your crap, it's only two loaves."

  "Worth a hundred each, which I am keeping for a friend."

  "Yeah, well, I don't need you turning this place into a lighthouse for buzz-rats. And for the love of God, put some jeans on."

  "Sheesh, Dad. Cool it, alright?" Crystal muttered, jumping up. Rick shot her a look. "Fine. I'll get rid of them."

  "Today. And don't fog the place up, I still have to live here."

  Crystal muttered more dark profanities and grabbed her sheepskin coat.

  "Wait," Rick said, taking out three leaves of cash. "Before you go, here's thirty."

  "What for?"

  "Once you're done with the fog, go to the bus station. Catch a 'Polar Bear' to Mum and Dad's. Clear your head."

  "You kicking me out?"

  "No, just think you need time away."

  Crystal was taken aback. She regarded him suspiciously.

  "How do you know I won't score?" She asked.

  "It's up to you, Sis," Rick said, with a touch of resignation. "I can't run your life."

  He gave her some more money. "Here's thirty more. In case you get hungry." She cautiously tucked the cash into a balled fist.

  "Thanks." She said, pushing a carton of cigarettes at Fee. "Laters Gators."

  Crystal took off without pausing. A bedroom door slammed, closely followed by death metal music dialled to the maximum.

  Rick turned back to take the carton off Fee, but she hugged like a stray kitten.

  "Seriously?

  "I'm running low."

  Rick smiled and nodded.

  "I guess it's the least I can do." He said. "Seems all I do nowadays is apologise for her behaviour. She offer you anything else?"

  "Just a beer."

  "Hmm, she must like you if that's all. Believe it or not, she had a lot of friends back in the day. Good people, too. They're all gone now, kept their distance."

  "Yay, tragic back-story time."

  "Alright, alright," Rick said, giving the helmet a couple of knocks. "Let's get going."

  ***

  Back outside, Rick peered through the open car window as Fee programmed co-ordinates into her GPS. The image settled on a green patch by a B-road represented as a single red line.

  "According these numbers, it's in the middle of nowhere." She said.

  "Are you sure about this?"

  "If we barely make it out, feel free to remind me on a daily basis."

  "Assuming we make it out," Rick said.

  “Not helping." Fee said and turned on the ignition.

  Rick stepped back and watched the car reverse out of the bay. Pushing on his helmet, he mounted the motorcycle and wondered what treasures lay in store.