Shades Of Grey

Prologue:

Gangland covers America. It covers the whole of New York and more. In the year 2153 the ruler of America came together with the other rulers of Europe and suggested a new plan for punishments. The crime had risen in Europe at an alarming rate, prisons just couldn’t hold them any more. Getting put in jail was like being put in a wet cardboard box, the sides just seemed to melt away. So, all agreed that one ultimate prison was to be built. They soon realized that it was no longer a prison but a glorified cage. The voluptuously over-stuffed leaders grinned with greased glee, as their problems were taken away for storage, making their jobs so much less strenuous. The boundaries were never built but marked enrolled into the Format training. All those who were caught in any kind of crime were sent to with guards, who were soon re-named Formats. To be a Format was apparently a great honor, many Mother’s cried with pride as their sons and daughters this cage to pay their penance. The plan, however, was not as perfect as it had appeared. They had foolishly believed that within the confinement of invisible iron walls, they would each turn on each other, eventually extinguishing themselves. This backfired, and all they could do was look on in fear as the ‘gangers’ created their own society: that they claimed was more free than the other parts of the world. Trust was of small measure to begin with, and rules were often broken. But in a world where the only training they had was crime, they each found skills they never thought they possessed. They became bound by a feeling of bitterness towards Consort City. The ultimate vision of the leader’s ‘crime-free’ world was Consortian Palace, or Consort City. As time passed the division grew, and a war seemed like the only end to the divide between families and friends.
Rye was born in ganglands by a mother that was banished there. The birth was narrowly survived, as no one within ganglands had any doctorate. No baby had ever been born and raised in ganglands, and so Rye became the first and only Child Of Ganglands. Her Mother, a beautiful woman in her early twenties called Moira, couldn’t survive gang life, and was often found bargaining with the Formats, trying to get out. Eventually she was petitioned for by someone from inside Consort City and was released, on the condition that she left her two-month-old baby behind.
The baby, nicknamed Rye, was left out in the cold until she was found by a ganger, a man by the name of Garat, who decided to bring her up to be the ultimate survivor of Ganglands. It was a strong belief that this baby would hold the future in her chubby little hands, and there, they would find freedom.
Rye was brought up in ganglands, and until she was 19 she experienced no real difficulties.







FIND



Dying in Ganglands

Rye held her gun close to her chest in a maneuver James Bond would have been proud of. But Rye wasn't James Bond, she was different. She was on the other side. A smile played on her lips, the thought was almost funny. Almost. If she hadn't been on the other side of a wall where police were trying to gun her down like some disobedient cattle.
Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and the brown tendrils came about her heart shaped face treacherously. Rye looked behind her shoulder at Chase.
"How many?" He whispered. With a quick glance, she calculated. Years of training allowed this to be a quick process. That way she didn’t end up with a bullet in her brain.
"Seven, six armed, one in the car." she whispered back, making sure not to take her concentration off the task at hand, and onto the argument from before. He’d been angry with her, for making a deal behind his back. She had just wanted to know where her Mother was. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Chase had told her that if her Mother had wanted to be found she would have come to Rye.
“You’re gunna mess up one of these days, big time. Then whom will you turn to? On that day, when you really need my help, I’ll be around. In fact I’ll be waiting for it.” But Rye wasn't going to let him be around. Oh, no. She was getting past these pigs, then out of the ganglands. Out of this rat-hole she had taken it upon herself to call home. She wasn’t sure where to go afterwards, somewhere that was like gingerbread and churchyards.
She looked down at herself. She wasn’t exactly a fashion model. The old ripped combats that hung off her legs, not even attempting to show her figure. But her top, that used to be army green, and now stretched across her chest and didn’t look like it had ever covered her stomach - which it had, when she was nine. That was how scarce things were here. With a quick nod, Chase held up 3 fingers. She knew the signal well, she wasn't even sure if it had been his idea or hers, the same thought had run through her mind.
Time to run.
The pigs stayed behind the other side of the doorway. All they had to do was time it right. This doorway was the only way out. Years of running, and still the pigs had managed to corner them. Rye and Chase clinked their guns together, like champagne glasses, a toast to good luck. Then both started the slow count down. Three...two...one...
And both bolted through the door and in opposite directions, sprinting with all the energy they had. It was a risky move, but Rye had the agility.
Rye heard the bullet hit bone before she saw it, and with out thinking she stopped, turning on her heel. Please, no she sent a silent prayer. But no amount of praying could save Chase. As Rye turned she saw Chase fall to his knees and drop to the floor, blood pouring out at an alarming rate. Chase, her life-long partner, her one true friend, her only true-life line to the real world, was lying on the floor, killed by the people he hated most. What a way to die. Die? Chase couldn’t be dead. It didn’t quite process. It was like a computer logging on, the information coming up, slowly, and undeniably.
Rye stood, allowing the police to surround her. It didn't matter any more, they had already taken away half her soul, the might as well send the other half with it as soon as possible. She felt her hands grow weak, her heart following. The gun slipped out of her cold fingers and clattered to the ground. The noise rang in Rye's ears. The sound of defeat. She just wanted them to shoot her then and there. But the barrels that stared menacingly at her didn’t let the bullet push into her. She heard no crack as it hit bone. No darkness surrounded her. Warm hands gripped her arms and back, pushed her into the back of the van. Rye tried as hard as she could to see out of the back window. Get up, Chase, Get up now. Stop playing. Get up.
He didn’t move.

Indescribable Hatred

The whirring of the lying machine that sat next to her had to be the one most annoying noise she had ever heard. The moronic 'agents' crowded around her, and asked her the same question, yet again. The one she presumed would be the leader was a woman with blonde hair slicked back into a tight knot at the back of her head. Her suit was a navy blue, and her tie matched. Amber had once thought they were agents of some kind, most of them carried clipboards or briefcases around, like high-class business people. But she soon find out they were just doctors on a power trip. They liked to think they were big and important, they didn’t understand, however, that interrogating people was not a way to get something out of a ganger. Rule number 104, Bartering may be used to gain information between people.
"Do you know Summer Harrods?"
Amber had no idea who that was, but who ever it was, their name was now thoroughly pissing her off. Amber crossed her eyes and poked out her tongue. None of them reacted. The female leaned over and whispered in a pathetically un-threatening, idiotic supposed-to-be-hard tone of voice:
"This is not a game, you have two choices, either you help us out, and we shorten your sentence, or you can pull faces, play your games, then you'll live and die in that cell. Is that clear?"
Amber looked at her in the most I-can't-stand-you way possible.
"Crystal." The word was dripping in sarcasm, to the point where it was probably possible to have sarcasm on toast. The female eyed Amber cautiously.
"Ok, do you or do you not know Summer Harrods, and you had better say yes, because you have been recorded as being seen with her two months ago, so don’t play with us missy"
Ahhh, sweet freedom. The memory plagued Amber's thoughts before she could stop it. Two months ago she was walking the ganglands, free as a bird, and soon to be as dead as one. Or was it as dead as doornail? She couldn’t remember.
"Summer Harrods, you've jack hammered that name into my skull, I swear if I hear it one more -"
One of the men in the corner coughed.
"She worked with a boy by the name of Edward Fisher, aged 22, shot dead on sight at 13 sonnerd lane a week ago." Amber raised one eyebrow and smirked.
"There's an Edward in the ganglands? I think not. The name's too prissy to be the name of a ganger."
He smirked right back at her.
"He also went by the name of 'Chase'. Presumably, a name that reflected his lifestyle." He said the sentence slowly, enjoying each vowel, waiting for her reaction. The name was said with such distaste, Amber almost didn't recognise it. But there was no mistaking that name. Her features froze. Her lovely, gorgeous, protecting Chase was...dead?
Visibly pale, Amber lurched from the chair pulling at the straps that held her down. She shouted every obscenity known to man. After a while, when her language calmed, they began to get bored of this reaction.
“You pigs!! How dare you!! You don’t understand what you’ve done!!”
The people turned and spoke softly to the guards, and a smile played on their features. Amber’s mood turned serious as she searched her memory for a girl Chase worked with. The name was so familiar, yet unusual. The one with the gift. The one he'd trained from the tender age of twelve, and had fallen for. The girl she despised. Gotcha.
"Rye."
The word was spat out, with such a bitterness it felt like vinegar on her tongue.
The female agent turned around from her position, with her hand on the doorknob.
"You do know her?"
"Who doesn't? Little cow."
"Well, well, well. Looks like your arch nemesis is going to be your ticket out of here. How very.... lovely."
And with that, the woman turned and promptly left the room, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Leaving Amber seething in the box room behind her.

Forced Into Freedom

Rye sat in the corner of the white room. It wasn't a jail, nor a mental institution. She knew by the way she was treated. Neither patient nor inmate. Patients got treated carefully, as if they were a ticking bomb. Inmates got treated like shit – pushed, beaten punished severely for their crimes.
Her clothes had been taken, and she had stood in the middle of the room in her underwear while they assessed every inch of her. They took notes on every scar, every pimple. Is this what they did to Chase? Are they doing this to Chase’s dead body right now? She barely noticed the people watching her. Her thoughts were full of Chase. When her clothes were given back, they had been dyed black. They gave her a black cardigan that almost cleared her knees. She’d seen these in old films of mental institutions. That’s when she began to wonder where it was that they had taken her.
It didn't matter anyway. She had nothing left to live for, and thinking was a part of living. Chase had gone, and now Rye was left with two choices. Either a) Find who shot Chase and kill them. Therefore taking revenge like every ganger in the country would be planning to carry out. Or b) stay and rot into nothingness. Right now, b sounded better.
Rye’s senses kicked in quickly when she heard footsteps ringing out in the corridor outside. An impatient tapping of a biro on a clipboard, and a heavy sigh as the footsteps stopped and turned outside Rye’s door.
The door opened and the woman stepped in.
“Summer Harrods” She said. Rye didn’t even respond. She kept on looking at the white wall in front of her. The name was unfamiliar, but it didn’t matter what she called her, Rye was going to melt into nothingness now anyway, the option had been chosen for her.
“You’ve caused quite a calamity in the office young lady.”
Rye pointedly stared at the woman, not even bothering to work up the curiosity to ask where the office was.
“You’re depressed at your friends death, that’s understandable. But you realise we can’t relieve you of your punishment.”
She sat on the end of the bed, sighed and looked down at her clipboard frowning. The woman was pretty, but delicate. Her features were soft, and she held the clipboard so lightly, Rye wouldn’t have been surprised if she dropped it. She had black hair that made her face seem more than pale. She seemed pure hearted, just brought up in the wrong place. She wore a light purple skirt with nylon stockings. Rye had considered what stockings felt like, what it felt like to feel a skirt around your thighs. But she put this out of mind quickly as the woman looked up sharply. The frown still darkening her face.
“You’re an interesting subject. I’m not exactly sure what they have planned for you, but you’re to be trained again. I’m hoping they’re going to make you into one of us. That would be nice, you have such a complicated network, you see. I’d love to know what built your anger.”
Rye looked at her and considered the question while the woman went on jabbering away. Chase’s words seemed to echo in her skull, bouncing off one another in a desperate race to get her to remember them.
One memory went through her mind that seemed to stop her very existence and chilled her to the core.
She was sat on the roof of the old apartment building, staring down at the world below that used to be so full in vigor and now seemed pitiful and empty. Chase came and sat beside her.
Chase was twenty-two, and Rye nineteen, but they had become partners. His hair was getting too long and fell into his clear blue eyes.
“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” Rye nodded, not wanted to say it aloud in case it finalised it, and wasn’t able to pretend otherwise.
“Look,” He said sighing “Ganglands may not be the most beautiful of towns but...”
“Its more beautiful than Consort City.” Rye jumped in. The bitterness in her voice was more than apparent.
“How would you know? You’ve never been there.”
“No, but Consort is controlled, false. It could never be real. It would be like a dream that you never wake up from. What’s the point in seeing beauty that isn’t really there?”
Chase looked at her, frowning.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“I’m not.”
Rye knew that Consort city was where Chase was born and raised until he was fourteen, when some friends of his were caught stealing. Consort City law outlines that criminals don’t just appear; they are influenced by their close friends and influential relative. Therefore if some one is caught stealing, all people close to them also get punished. How ever, in court Chase’s mother put up a personality portfolio, which enabled her to get out of the punishment. Chase was left alone. Mother’s seemed to be like that nowadays.
Rye was only six when Chase came to Gangland - where the criminals are sentenced to stay, and he continued to teach Rye how to defend herself. Not that didn’t already know a lot. You can’t survive in Ganglands without being able to defend yourself.
“Just remember, Belle” His pet name still stayed with her. “Never let them tell you who you are, or what to do. You’re free here, like you said. But there....” He paused swallowing. “There, they can control your thoughts to believe you love it. Don’t give in to them, ever.” And with that, he had got up and left. The subject was never brought up again.
Back in the cell Rye stood up and turned her head to view the woman still chattering away like a mad woman.
“Which way is the exit?” Rye asked. The woman looked up at her, surprised. It was the first time Rye had spoken in two months. The woman bit down hard on the end of the biro, considering her closely before answering.
“Ummm...you can’t just walk out of here.”
Rye looked down on the woman, and asked again.
“Which. Way. Is. The. Exit.” The tone was clearly patronising, and the woman frowned at her.
“I’m sorry, you must face your punishment before you leave.” The woman stood.
“I will not stay in here.”
“You must.”
“No, I must not.”
The woman turned and left, leaving Rye standing in the corner of the room with her face turned upwards.
Above her was an air conditioning vent, bolted to the ceiling.


Fiery Embers

The room had been the same for nine months. Amber had looked at these same four walls, the same bed, and the same toilet for nine whole months. One more month and she was out of here.
One more month and I’m dead. Amber knew of the peril she faced. People were going to track her, find out when her sentence was over and then when she was to come out, they would kill her. Probably on the steps of this hellhole. She’d never see the world properly again.
The thought of being able to shorten her sentence was like some one offering food to the starving. It was so tempting, and so easy....
No. No matter what she thought of that little bitch Rye, she wouldn’t give her up completely. Rule number 57 of the Ganglands Code Of Conduct. Under no circumstances is one gang member to give any details on another ganger, even if it is of an opposition. The thought may have been tempting, but the action was forbidden. Still, she relished in the dream.
The government didn’t know how Gangland worked. Although it was a dangerous way to live, and often there were old-fashioned style shootouts, they still had a certain amount of loyalty when it came to common enemies.
Wait. Amber turned her head on an angle as the foreign sound reached her ears. Then she shook her head. Someone had been caught in the air conditioning again. An escapee. It wasn’t unusual. But it wasn’t very often they didn’t protest, you normally had the distant sounds of screams as the reached the laser walls. Or even a fumbling as they loosened the bolts. This one must have been clever, a ganger no doubt, with years of training. Amber stood and walked over to the door.
Light came through the small hole in the door. Originally for the security guards to check on the figures in the darkness, but it worked both ways. The hole was about the size of a penny, and Amber placed her eye close to it. The guards passed with a prisoner in tow.
The Guards were silent as always, not yet able to start drinking the gin they kept in the back of their locker, behind the cleaning fluid, in between the washing up liquid and the tranquillisers: used on the escapees or dangerous gangers.
The prisoner’s shackles clinked and scraped across the floor. It was what they did to the prisoners who tried to escape. Shackled their feet and wrists.
But the girl didn’t walk with heaviness; she walked with a grace, a strength. Amber looked closer.
No. It’s not possible. Amber blinked and looked again. It’s...Rye? The disbelief showed in her features, or would have if the darkness hadn’t engulfed her. The lights weren’t due to come on for hours.
Rye held her head high and walked with triumph through the steel corridors, which seemed to have no end and no beginning. It was only then that Rye pulled away. Running towards Amber’s door.
“What are you doing?” Amber hissed.
“Five, nine, four, two, twelve.” Rye said, not trying to lower her voice. The guards were already pulling her away, mumbling to themselves.
No, her mission wasn’t to escape, Amber realised with a shock. It was to get EVERY one of the prisoners out. It was a plan only Chase could have created. Amber knew her duty. The numbers were a code. It simply meant: I Am Distraction. Remove Yourself.
She was going to be free.

Sacrificing life

Rye sat in the corner of the room thinking over different scenarios. She wasn’t used to taking actions to get attention. Usually she kept it quiet so that she could be free. But this wasn’t about getting free, it was about fulfilling Chase’s dream of freeing all contained gangers: put in jail because they tried to escape ganglands and go home.
Leading them on goose chase would be easy, except for the guards. Weapons were needed. A knife would do. A knife or a gun. But since it was highly unlikely, near to impossible to get a gun, a knife would have to do.
So.
Rye had to perform the loudest, clumsiest escape ever. And it had to last as long as possible, so that everyone could get out. She looked at her dinner tray. A knife and fork were the usual eating instruments, surely they wouldn’t deny her that much.
A spoon. She had a spoon to eat mashed potato with. Oh Yeah, they were on the ball. No knives for naughty Rye. She picked up the spoon and started to bend the end. This was going to be more difficult than she thought.


Amber sat eating the soggy mushy peas with a spoon. They were economy brand. You bought them in kilogram bags of the stuff, if Amber remembered rightly. The peas hadn’t defrosted properly, and sat in a mangled lump: the picture of punishment for arguing back. That and a big bruise over her left eye.
She wasn’t sure of Rye’s plan, but she knew she would succeed. Everything that Rye did, Rye did well. Bitch. The jealousy rose inside her like lava forcing its way to the top. The four walls stared blankly at her, watching, waiting. If she were here much longer she’d die. Or kill someone else. Whichever came first. The energy built and tingled her fingertips like electricity being held back, about to spark.
The warden walked past and blocked the beam of light. Amber curled her lip at him, then, to her own surprise, she smiled.
“Good morning” she said politely. The warden jumped back then said gruffly:
“It’s the evening.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, doesn’t make much difference to me see? Well, I must get some sleep then. Busy busy busy.”
He snarled at her in his usual fashion then walked straight past. Little did he know he was on the losing team. Amber lay back onto her bed, and turned her back on the light. She could feel its warmth on her skin almost like sunshine. She’d be free. Rye’s fate was more questionable. They have been known to torture the strongest of people and make them bumbling idiots. Was Rye stronger than all of them? Could she survive something no one else could. If the prophecy was correct, Rye could survive anything. Amber just hoped it was true.

The myth went as follows. One most foul creature would divide the world. Barely human, this creature would destroy all that he touched. He alone could destroy the half of the world he didn’t want and leave the one that he would rule. But the half he didn’t want or need would only have one chance of fighting back. All the power and good from their half of the world, easily outweighed the good from the other world, as they are the goodness that had been outcasted for distorting the creature’s ideal hell. This power would be contained within one being. One ultimate ganger, the ultimate survivor of her world. Only she can allow her world to survive. She is the only hope that will remain. She is the only one that will survive anything.

Amber slept easily, undisturbed by noises, as she knew they couldn’t hurt her anymore. Often she had heard lover’s cries as they were torn apart from each other. The torturing was the worst. No one came out of there sane. They mumbled, and feared everyone that walked too near, didn’t recognise the ones they loved. The ones they gave their lives for. Or they didn’t come out at all. Rumours were that they were kept in there, in a room, with experiments done on them. Or they could just be dead. That would be better. The noise that awoke her was neither loud nor unusual. A small scraping. Metal on metal, maybe. No, metal on stone. Rye’s escape. Amber closed her eyes and listened to the sound of safety.

Rye didn’t sleep at all that night. She scraped the spoon continuously against the edge of the wall. She had already bent the end into a point. Now she had to sharpen the sides. Never unsure of what she was doing, she checked the false blade. It drew deep into her hand; the blood oozed up, and with it her sadness. Everything that made her, her DNA was dripping like syrup onto the floor. The guard walked up to the door.
“Breakfast time, sweetheart.” He said and opened the door. The tray contained porridge that resembled something she’d brought up after eating too much ice cream on her eighth birthday party. Rye didn’t move. She watched the guard lope in and drop the tray onto the floor, spilling half of its contents.
“ Can I tell you something?” Rye asked, her voice neutral. The guard was wary, but curiosity over took him. Silly kitty.
“ I don’t like it here much.” Rye moved in on him. “And I don’t expect the others here do either. I’ve even heard the guards complain. I mean, they say all they are, are pawns, in someone’s little game of chess. Do you have any control at all? Or are you just a pawn?” The guard was insulted, she could see.
“I have a lot of control. I can open every door in the place with a flick of a switch.”
“Really?” This was better than she had expected. The guy had started talking about it now. Rye didn’t need to listen. He had played into her hands. Rye stood, in the corner of the room, watching him. Morning wasn’t a good time for escape. Easily seen. In darkness, their black clothes would be perfect.
“Well. I guess you’re more important than I thought.” The Guard seemed satisfied with this answer, and left the room. The jangle of the keys echoed down the hallway as he locked her door. Say Goodbye to your freedom, Rye. You’re not going to see it again for a long time

Last Breath

Amber stood in the room with fire in her fingertips. She was in suspense. She was waiting. Suspense meant waiting with anticipation. For Amber it meant she was suspended in time. The ticking of the clock that she couldn’t see seemed to go so slowly. They kept that ticking. The clock itself didn’t exist, but over the tanoy system the ticking continued. They never used the speakers for anything else. They abused the ticking, making it so that seemed worse than silence. Silence pressed against your ears, like having too much cotton wool pushed in them. It made you long for any noise; your own breathing was enough. Eventually, you became so in tune with yourself that noises could be heard from further away. It was like losing your sight, only now you didn’t need to see; you knew what was there.
That was Chase’s theory of Rye. He had explained it to her one night, when Rye had got in a fight and had to be taken to the Hospital Ward. They had waited in what used to be offices, the empty computer shells sat on the hard wooden desks: unused, useless to them. Left to the dust to conceal.
They sat outside waiting for the report on Rye’s health. Neither of them had been very worried, Rye survived a lot worse.
“You don’t understand.” Chase had claimed, sitting back: relaxed, in the over stuffed uncomfortable chair. “She doesn’t need to see the streets to know they’re there. She’s walked them a thousand times; she knows what’s there. It’s the noises that are unusual. The noises that change from day to day. She needs the noises to allow her to do what a blind person does – see what isn’t there.”
Amber stretched her fingers out and cracked her knuckles. The lights had to be going out soon, she knew. It was their only indication of time. Lights on – day, Lights off – night. It wasn’t until Amber began to wonder what it was exactly Rye was going to do to get over a hundred people out of a building when the lights flickered, and all was black.


Rye was doing the action before her brain could process it. The guard looked through the small ray of light, and Rye hid in the black spot. He sighed loudly, obviously impatient.
“Come along missy, some people have families to go to you know.” He mumbled. And then he sighed yet again. The slight jangle of keys as he opened the lock. The thud as the heavy door shifted out of its place. The heavy footsteps as he entered, and then the muffled cry he let out as she jumped him.
“Don’t worry” Rye whispered into his ear, “I’m not going to take anything, I’m just gunna borrow your keys, ok?”
He seemed dissatisfied with this and his muffled cries got louder. Rye shook her head. This wasn’t going to work if he kept on calling out like that. One swift blow to the back of the head with the side of her hand – to prevent injury to herself of course, and he was knocked out for a few hours. That should be enough. She took the keys and left the room. Not needing to look back, she’d be back there soon enough. But still she smiled in spite of herself. She was back with a vengeance.