Entering the reception, I harnessed my weapon and slowed to deter any suspicion from the concierge. Doctor Aditi walked by my side, flustered, clutching the holdall strap with a shaking hand, the bag swinging with his movements.
Passing the reception desk, we both smiled at the concierge as he took a phone call. Moments later, as we neared the entrance, I could hear him vocalise astonishment. I suspected that other residents had reported what had happened in apartment five hundred and sixty-seven.
Anytime soon, the police would arrive.
We had to get out of there.
I felt the stress hormone cortisol flooding my bloodstream, whilst the effects of the Statera overpowered this, maintaining a potent high—an internal boat on choppy waters. Energised—ready to fight, I had to take a few deep breaths to ensure I wasn’t too overzealous in my mannerisms.
Before opening the entrance door, instinct told me to avoid walking out. I sensed something wasn’t right, troubled by thoughts of whatever had attacked us in the apartment.
Abruptly, I stopped, turning to face the doctor.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘As soon as we walk out, I will provide cover. We have to be very careful getting to the car. The door will be open.’
He nodded.
I took his holdall and threw the strap over my shoulder. Withdrawing my phone, I held down both volume keys. It would send a signal to my colleagues at headquarters, informing them I was performing the extraction.
Behind me, I could hear the concierge shouting in our direction.
‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ he replied confidently.
Pocketing the phone, I opened the door. Walking out, I withdrew my handgun, surveyed the area, and started moving forward.
He followed in my heels. I provided a shield, feverishly training my handgun on the surrounding apartment buildings. They loomed over us. There were numerous windows, ideal for concealment. As we passed each corner, I expected confrontation. Our heavy footsteps and fast breathing perforated the deathly silence.
When we reached the semi-circular driveway, I gestured for him to walk around to the very end. The car’s locking system registered my approach. The doctor ran forward, opened the passenger door wide, jumped in, and slammed it shut. I quickened my pace to reach the driver’s side of the car.
Suddenly, I could hear a buzzing sound coming from behind, echoing against the surrounding buildings. For a moment, I ignored it, but it got louder. Nearer. When I reached the driver’s door, I opened it and threw the holdall onto the back seat.
I looked toward the corner of an apartment building. A large black drone appeared. On the underside of the body, a mounted machine gun was located.
Turning in our direction, it registered, opening fire with a loud cacophony, peppering the car with bullets. I knelt for cover. Thankfully, there were perks with my work: a vehicle customised with reinforced bulletproof windows and plating.
Civilians walking along the pavement ran in fright. I launched inside the car and closed the door. Exchanging glances with the doctor, he was wide-eyed and panting heavily.
‘Well, that’ll explain things,’ I said dryly, harnessing my weapon. ‘You’d better hold on—this won’t be a casual drive.’
He nodded anxiously, attaching his seatbelt. I secured mine and switched on the quiet, hybrid engine.
The drone had flown ahead and turned around to face the car. I pressed down on the throttle, released the handbrake, and instinctively pulled the steering wheel hard to the right, sending the vehicle into a hard right turn in the opposite direction of the traffic flow.
The tail end of the car swerved outwards before straightening. The doctor gasped. Several vehicles were approaching us, beeping. I manoeuvred past them. Some swerved to avoid a collision. Overhead, the drone vaulted ahead, showering the car with bullets.
We drove towards a junction. I originally intended to head straight down Wandsworth Road, but traffic surged from the one-way system to our left, blocking the way.
Looking to the right, I saw no traffic approaching from Nine Elms Lane. I pushed down on the throttle. With the engine roaring but barely making a sound, I pulled down on the handbrake and sent the car in the new direction, again in the wrong lane.
We started driving down Nine Elms Lane. To our right was the apartment complex. In front of us was the river, which this road snaked alongside. The car momentarily shook as it straightened. Vehicles were coming in our direction. Evasively, I drew over the verge and onto the left side of the road, but I had to slow down as we neared other cars.
Looking in the rear mirror, I saw that the drone had circled and tailed us. It recommenced a barrage of bullets that smashed against the vehicle’s surface, the sound muffled by the thickness of the windows.
To prevent civilian casualties, I meandered through the cars ahead, jumped the next set of lights, and pushed down hard on the throttle to create distance. Ahead of us, the road was empty. The U.S. Embassy was to our left, surrounded by a mountain range of modern skyscrapers, office blocks, and apartment buildings. To our right were smaller buildings overlooking the Thames.
Behind, in the far distance, I could hear bellowing police sirens. They were heading for the apartment.
‘Are you going to try and out-run that thing?’ the doctor asked, looking over his shoulder at the barely visible aircraft camouflaged in the darkened skies.
I looked in the rear mirror, watching the drone gradually getting closer. ‘Not likely.’
The drone stopped firing at us. The operator must have realised it couldn’t pierce the bulletproof material. It accelerated forward, circled to our right, and started firing towards the wheels. Although these were run-flat tyres made from heavy-duty rubber, unlike the rest of the car’s exterior, they were vulnerable to constant bombardment from machine gunfire.
Training my eyes on the road ahead, I swerved to avoid a collision. The drone maintained its aim, pelting the right-hand front wheel. It wouldn’t be long before the material was obliterated, causing the wheel to burst and potentially leading to a loss of steering.
We met traffic. I took the pressure off the throttle, manoeuvring the car through like water passing stones in a stream. All the while, the drone had continued its pursuit, edging nearer.
‘How far are we?’ the doctor asked.
‘Depending on traffic—less than twenty minutes,’ I said, looking to my right as we passed Battersea Power Station.
Suddenly, and most inconveniently, two more drones appeared in the distance, flying in our direction.
When something like this occurs, affecting civilian lives, I obviously can’t take it lightly. It was a well-planned attack. And especially right out in the open. Something like this does not happen every day. Our operations are typically conducted out of public view, in the shadows. We usually stop these things before they happen.
Who was operating these drones?
As we drew past Battersea Park station, the drones surged ahead, shooting at a dozen vehicles under the bridge and at a junction beyond.
The audacity.
Panicking, the drivers all reacted by putting on their brakes. Some swerved, and others crashed into each other, ploughing into a cyclist and creating a barrier ahead of us. Civilians started to run and scream.
There was no alternative but to continue forward. Thankfully, there was a small gap to manoeuvre through, narrowly missing a double-decker bus.
The doctor breathed a sigh of relief. I held control of the car, pressing down hard on the throttle, pushing it to its limits.
I was in the moment. My heart was still beating calmly.
We continued down Battersea Park Road, passing through a residential area. Once again, I had to weave between both lanes to avoid oncoming traffic. Meanwhile, the three drones continued to pelt us and other vehicles.
Drawing towards another junction, at the last moment, I applied the brakes, causing the car to grind to a halt. The hydraulic suspension-assisted seats cushioned us. Meanwhile, the drones flew onwards. Deciding to take us away from my intended trajectory, I drove forward, pulled up hard on the handbrake, and twisted the steering wheel, forcing the car to swerve to the left, causing the back end to swing around and the tyres to screech. As this happened, I drew down my window, withdrew my handgun, aimed at the drones, and fired. A few hit their mark, but the aircraft were undeterred and turned around.
I dropped the gun into the footwell, released the handbrake, and used both hands to retake control of the steering wheel. We surged southwards onto Falcon Road. The car momentarily wobbled before I was able to stabilise it.
Twice thrown off my original route, a few valuable minutes added to the journey. Thankfully, I knew these streets intimately. However, I knew we were approaching the busy Clapham Junction at the end of this road.
‘Doctor, would you mind doing something for me?’ I asked, looking in the rear mirror.
‘Yes.’
One of the drones was drawing nearer. I couldn’t see the other two.
‘Can you reach into the backseat and pull up the lower cushion? Underneath, you’ll find an assault rifle.’ He proceeded to unbuckle, twist around, and lean back. As instructed, he pulled up the cushion, revealing the weapon.
There are two ammunition clips. Take those as well.’ He unlatched both and brought them forward. ‘Thank you. Just hold onto them for me.’
We came to a junction. Opposite us was the old Arding & Hobbs building. I took a sharp right, avoiding vehicles from every direction, and drove up St John’s Hill towards the train station. To no surprise, two other drones appeared ahead. They started shooting at the front wheels of the car.
‘There is another one!’ the doctor exclaimed, looking back.
Fully aware, I looked in the rear mirror but corrected my presumptions. Drawing behind us was the original drone, along with a new counterpart. As the original started firing at the car’s back wheels, the newer aircraft was better equipped—it launched a small missile that narrowly missed the side of the vehicle and smashed into a nearby lorry, which exploded in a thunderous ball of fire and smoke. Civilians started running frantically in all directions.
Nothing is ever easy—the memory of my son’s face.
As I swerved around other vehicles, we made our way onto a bridge across the train tracks. All four drones circled, positioning themselves at each wheel, continuing to bombard the car with bullets and missiles—the latter missed. I veered through the oncoming traffic.
‘Doctor, hand me the rifle and clips. You must take the wheel.’
‘What?!’ he questioned.
‘I will keep my foot on the throttle,’ I said, loading the rifle before activating the window. The doctor reluctantly leaned forward and took hold of the steering wheel.
I produced the rifle, aimed at the drone to my right, and released a volley of gunfire. It had the desired effect of smashing through the drone’s plating, which I deduced wasn’t made from metal. Moments later, the propellers malfunctioned. The drone exploded onto the concrete, fragmenting across the pavement.
Meanwhile, the other drones spotted me leaning out of the car. They directed their fire at me. Instinctively, I leaned back in for safety, closing the window. I handed the rifle to the doctor and took back the steering wheel.
The road tightened. We continued down St John’s Hill past houses, shops and restaurants. Civilians ran for cover. Debris exploded around us.
Eventually, coming to a turn on the one-way system, we followed this south on the A3. Snaking around, Wandsworth Common was on our left. Once again, heading westwards towards the rendezvous point.
We continued, jumping lights at a junction, gradually heading towards Wandsworth. The newer drone drew forward, faced us and launched a missile at the front-right tyre, this time hitting its target. The wheel was blown to smithereens, causing the car to shudder. Shrapnel propelled into the air, hitting the windscreen. The exposed wheel hub crunched against the ground, spraying sparks in all directions.
The doctor vocalised his shock, hugging the rifle close to his chest. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel to ensure I wouldn’t lose control, narrowly missing an oncoming car.
I could no longer drive at top speed. We continued on Wandsworth High Street, now taking a downhill trajectory, only a minute away from the rendezvous point.
How was I going to shake off this tail before getting there?
The steering wheel gyrated in my grasp. My arms spasmed. But I was in control.
Approaching heavy traffic, I swerved through. There was no alternative but to mount the pavement. Doing this, I punched the horn repeatedly to alert oncoming civilians. One manoeuvred, riding an electric scooter. Ahead, the lights went red. I evasively drove out past the parking traffic. We narrowly avoided collisions from other angles.
Eventually, I took a hard left onto Buckhold Road. In the distance, I could see the rendezvous point—a grey multi-storey car park.
I swung left onto Neville Gill Close. As this happened, I heard another explosion. The rear-left tyre also burst, causing the car to gyrate violently and slow its trajectory.
I turned left under the low-hanging barricade entrance. Overhead, the two front drones flew away to avoid colliding with the building. The remaining drone, surveying the steep bank inside the car park, refrained from following us and flew out of sight.
I breathed a sigh through my nostrils. The car continued to struggle.
We needed to get to the second level—not ideal.
As they reached the top of the ramp, it curved to the left past the guard station. As the car smashed through the barricade, he stood up, looking on in dismay.
We drove through the first level and approached the next ramp. Despite the reinforced windows, we could hear the screeching of the wheel hubs echoing against the walls of the car park. I contemplated getting out and running the rest of the way, but I could see the drones circling the building. I didn’t want to take the risk.
I could feel the car struggling as we drove up the final ramp. Ahead, over the lip of the new level and a short distance away, I hoped my colleagues were waiting for us.
As we reached the top of the ramp, I instructed the doctor to grab his bag. We drove around to the right. There was clinical, white lighting. At the top right of the level was a single white van. As we wobbled forward, the back doors to the vehicle opened. Out climbed two agents brandishing rifles.
I didn’t recognise either of them.
Applying the brakes, the car came to a grinding halt. Taking the rifle from the doctor, I reloaded it and surveyed our surroundings.
‘Ready?’ I asked.
The doctor nodded anxiously.
Opening the door, I instantly aimed it further down the building whilst the doctor hesitantly got out.
But just then, standing only a few metres away from the rendezvous point, I saw something appearing in an opening. Before I could act, a bright light illuminated the level. A missile was hurtling toward us.
At that moment, I turned to face the doctor.
Suddenly, I felt the unbearable sensation of my body blowing through the air. The missile collided with the underside of my car, sending it spinning into the air in a blinding ball of flames.
I landed on my back, my head connected with the floor, and my arms splayed outwards, losing hold of the rifle. For a few moments, everything went dark—I fell unconscious.
When I came to, my eyesight was blurred. I was overwhelmed with a high-pitched ringing sensation in my ears. Reacting, I used my hands to push up into a sitting position. Before me, the car was overturned, still ablaze and blackened. I looked to my right, watching deliriously as the two agents fired their weapons at the drone.
I scrambled, stumbled forward, and ran around the car. There, I found the doctor lying on the ground, blood dripping from his mouth and ears.
In my disorientation, I couldn’t fully process what had happened. I drew forward onto my knees. By the doctor’s side, I looked down at him. Resisting the temptation to touch the doctor, I remained still.
Suddenly, his bloodshot eyes opened. He looked up at me.
‘Doctor, I…’ I managed to utter, shaking.
The ringing was intense.
With his burnt hand, the doctor ushered me closer. I leaned forward, putting my ear close to his mouth.
‘I must… pass on… information,’ he rasped. I looked into his eyes, glazed with tears. And then, he said that fateful word, which would change my life forever, opening my eyes for the first time: ‘Leveller.’