Kingdom: The Complete Series (34 page)

Gregor looks at the
King in alarm, his mouth flapping open as he begins to explain. The King raises
a hand for silence and stops him, watching the screen like a hawk, never once
blinking.

“
My
name is Mark. The King tried to kill me once before. Later, he almost killed me
again – and my mother, bless her – but that didn't work out either. This is the
third time that he has made an attempt on my life, and as you can see,” Mark
laughs and spreads his arms out, revealing his scarred and bruised torso, “I'm
still here.”

The King leans forward,
his elbows on the desk, as Mark continues.

“
The
King burned my project to the ground because he knew it would hurt me. He won't
fight me in the open, because in the open he has no power. He's a shadow, and
we all know what happens to shadows when you shine the light on them. We don't
have to be afraid of him anymore.” Mark steps down from the ledge of the fire
engine as he talks to the crowd, his voice growing louder. “He murders innocent
people, terrifies anybody with something to lose into compliance, and relies on
cowardly tactics to strike at those strong enough to oppose him.”

The camera zooms in on
Mark as he delivers the ending to his speech.

“
I
know you're watching this, King. I know you're sitting in a bunker or an office
somewhere, about to snap and lose your temper. Glasgow knows what you are now.
I'm not afraid of you;
we're
not afraid of you. And I don't care how
long it takes me: I'm coming for you. I'll find you – and you'll answer for
every life that you've destroyed.” Mark looks around at the crowd, nodding his
head. “That's all.”

They surge forward,
pressing him with questions. He winces, raising his hands for quiet.

“
One
at a time, one at a time,” he sighs. “You,” he points at a female journalist.
“You go first. There's no rush.”

“
I'd
like to ask the question on the public's lips: would you consider yourself a
superhero?”

Mark looks at her, his
face suddenly contorted with a mixture of thoughts and feelings. He thinks for
a few seconds, staring at the ground, and then shrugs.

“
There's
no such thing, ma'am.”

The questions fly in.

The King leans forward,
with so much careful patience that it silences the room, and turns the phone
off. He takes a deep breath, lifts the phone, and turns to face the crowd as he
stands. Passing the phone back to its nervous owner, he smooths his suit down
and turns to Gregor.

Gregor is shaking,
clutching his ribs and looking at the King with all the hopeless shame of a
guilty puppy.

“
H-he
was dead when we left him, sir -”

The King barely moves.
His entire body tenses and he drives his fist hard into Gregor's broken ribs.
With a soft cough, Gregor crumples to the floor, and the King returns to his
professional stance, hands clasped behind his back. He steps over Gregor, whose
face is screwed up in pain, spittle coating his chin as he tries to get a
breath.

“
Everything,
Gregor,” whispers the King, whilst his people look on, nobody daring to
intervene. “Everything depended on your mission.”

“
M'sorry,”
groans the wounded man, writhing in pain. He looks up at the King with honest
tears in his eyes.

“
The
Agency will be rejoicing. I have spent resources that I cannot afford to waste
on this plan. I sacrificed a prison full of potential. I gave you most of our
explosives. A lot of men
died
to make this plan work. All so that we had
the advantage when the arrival comes.”

“
I
can,” Gregor gasps for every word. “I can fix it.”

“
Do
you know what pains me the most though, Gregor? Not that you wasted my
manpower. Not that you wasted my resources; but that you wasted my
time,
Gregor.
The arrival is coming, and we have nothing. All we have to show for our efforts
are a few stab wounds and two dead Trespassers.”

He lifts his foot from
the ground and rests his weight on Gregor ribs. The crowd say nothing, staring
at the floor and trying to pretend that none of this affects them; that they
are outsiders. Gregor cries out and tries to move away, but the King presses
harder. The crowd ripples in disgust as they hear a faint crack, and Gregor
opens his mouth in a silent scream.

The King stares down at
him as though he were filth on his shoe, sneering. He sighs and the anger
leaves his face.

Taking his weight off
of Gregor, he turns to the crowd.

“
He's
suffered enough. Get him to a medic.” The King steps back as two men come in and
pick Gregor up, his jaw slack and his eyes unfocused. “Don't let it be said
that I am without mercy.”

“
Sir,”
a woman in a long black coat steps into the light, her face held still with
practised apathy. “What shall we do regarding the arrival?”

“
How
long is left?”

“
About
forty five minutes.”

“
Do
we have people in the city centre?”

“
Yes,
sir.”

“
Then
the plan goes ahead. We're depending on speed and cunning now, and we're up
against very smart opponents. They'll be expecting us. Do your best.”

The door opens and
Gregor is dragged out, his feet scraping along the floor as he groans,
regaining consciousness.

“
The
rest of you,” the King says. “Get out. I don't want to see you back here until
after the arrival, when you have control of the latest batch of assets.”

The room empties as
though a plug has been pulled, leaving the King in the fluorescent gloom by
himself. He waits until the door clicks closed and he can no longer hear
footsteps, and then he begins counting down from ten, breathing to calm
himself.

He makes it to five,
and then he roars in impotent rage and upends the table onto the floor, cursing
at the top of his lungs.

The helicopter lands
atop the roof of a block of flats two streets down from the ruins of the
Gardens, staying away from the pillar of smoke still rising from the burning
rubble. Jamie is the first out the helicopter's ramp, standing on the gravel
roof as Mark vaults onto it.

Tearing his broken mask
off despite the Trespasser's protests, the two meet in the middle and shake
hands before embracing.

“
Thought
you were dead mate,” says Jamie, patting Mark on the back.

“
So
did I.”

Jamie breaks the hug
and punches him hard on the arm. “You had us all in some state.”

“
I
was probably worse, believe me.”

“
Stop
running into stupid situations, eh?”

“
I
know, man. I know.”

The Trespasser emerges
from the helicopter.

“
Do
I get to say it?” he asks Mark.

“
Say
what?”

“
That
I bloody told you so,” he says, and claps his shoulder. “Glad you're ok, Mark.
Jamie, you give us a minute?”

“
Sure,”
says Jamie, and heads back to the chopper.

“
What's
up?” asks Mark, as the Trespasser's face fogs over in the darkness.

The joy is suddenly
gone from his voice. “What the hell was that?”

“
What?”

“
You
ran in there like an idiot. Nearly got yourself killed.”

“
I
know, it was stupid of me.”

“
Not
only did you jeopardise the mission with your actions, Mark: you allowed the
King's men to take your equipment. Your helmet was used as bait. We tried to
rescue you and he lured us into a prison filled with
his
men. Two Trespasser's
died
trying to save you Mark – and all for nothing.”

Mark falls silent, and
stares past the Trespasser into the night sky, the stars out.

“
Shit,”
he sighs.

“
Jamie
and myself were nearly among that body count.” The Trespasser steps in close,
and Mark can smell the gunpowder and the metallic scent of blood off him. “Do
you understand why I am angry, Mark?”

He nods. “I'm sorry.”

“
Now,
about taking your mask off in front of the camera: that's your choice. I can't
stop you. But I do have to ask: what were you thinking?”

“
They
took my mask, like you said,” he shrugs. “I don't need it anyway.”

“
Mark,
you aren't invincible. You're putting yourself and your mother at risk.”

“
Am
I? She's safe in the facility. Meanwhile, the King has this weird mythology
surrounding him, making him out to be some kind of ageless demon – the people
need to see him for what he is. They need somebody to follow, Trespasser.”

“
And
you're that person?”

Mark shrugs. “Maybe.
Maybe not. At least I can set an example.”

“
Mark,
this man has declared war on you. This isn't a comic book; this isn't a god
damned movie. He's almost killed you
three times,
Mark.”

“
If
we do nothing, Trespasser, then he wins. I want the people to see that he's
only as powerful as they let him be. I had to show them that I'm not afraid of
him.”

“
Aren't
you? Because you have every reason to be.”

“
Of
course
I'm afraid of him,” says Mark, tensing up. “I'm
petrified of him. I can barely sleep, for Christ's sake, just remembering the
moments that he had me at the edge. I'm terrified; but I can't let
him
know that. I can't let the people see that. Because then he wins.”

“
Okay.”

“
What,
that's it?”

“
You
can't take it back now, can you?” The Trespasser shrugs. “Your face is out
there. So now we run with it.”

“
I'm
not fired or anything?”

The Trespasser puts his
hands on his hips.

“
After
a stunt like this?” he tuts. “Command might want you off the team, I won't lie.
It's his call, not mine. Your actions cost the lives of two great soldiers, and
Command might judge you accordingly.”

Mark nods, taking this
in. “I understand.”

“
Look,
Mark; they were soldiers. They knew the risks. Taking a bunch of civilians into
an operation like this was never going to be easy. I'll do what I can, but
right now we have another priority. Are you ok to do your job?”

“
My
job?”

“
Arrival's
in twenty five minutes, Mark. Did you forget?”

“
Shit,
so it is,” says Mark, patting himself down. “I'm just in this jacket, I've no
overalls or -”

“
No
time to get replacements. You're fighting in your pyjamas by the look of it.”

Mark sighs. “No cape?”

“
No
cape, Mark. You said it yourself on the TV: there's no such thing as
superheroes. I hope you realise that now.”

Mark nods, his
shoulders sagging. “Let's go, then.”

“
Are
you in?”

“
I'm
in.”

“
Good
man. Do well, and Command might look on you favourably.”

“
What
are my chances?”

“
Slim.”

Mark sighs as he climbs
the ramp into the helicopter, his problems momentarily alleviated by the
grinning faces that stare back at him, shouting his name.

He greets them with a
smile, and for that moment, everything is ok.

Episode
9

Arrival

“
Glasgow's
quiet tonight.”

The Trespasser voice is
low, as though he dare not break the silence hanging over the city. Silhouettes
flicker and then vanish in the darkness below them, the citizens of Glasgow
scurrying to their homes, like prey sensing the wolves.

“
You
can feel it in the air,” says Jamie, joining him on the rooftop, a new unbroken
mask in his hands.

The squad gathers on
the gravel, whilst the Trespasser kneels over the parapet like a king surveying
his lands.

“
People
can sense something is going to happen,” he agrees.

“
How
long now?” asks Mark, unscrewing the top from his back-up flask and gulping the
contents down. He stands in a spare pair of shorts and nothing else. A little
spills down his stubble, over his bare chest.

“
Five
minutes. We should be able to see it soon.”

They are atop a college
building overlooking George's Square, the lights of the refugee camp flickering
like candles below them. Elsewhere, rivers of headlights and trundling engines
lead the way into Buchanan Bus Station, now home to soldiers and aid workers.

“
What
do you think he's planning?” asks Stacy.

Trespasser One turns.
“Who?”

“
The
King.”

“
Whatever
he has planned, he was counting on Mark being out of the picture.” The
Trespasser turns back to the city. “That didn't work out for him. He'll be
licking his wounds. Worst case scenario, he tries to intervene during the next
fifteen minutes; during the Arrival itself.”

“
I
still can't see anything in the sky,” says Jamie, one hand on his brow as he
scans the dark blue vista above them. “No clouds, either, so I don't know why.”

Gary nudges him. “That
rhymes.”

“
That's
great, Gary.”

Cathy folds her arms
and shivers, her breath turning to vapour as she exhales, shaking. The October
frost is sinking through their overalls, chilling the armoured plating and
making every ounce of weight seem heavier.

“
This
couldn't have happened in Spain or something, could it?” she asks through
chattering teeth.

Donald laughs, and the
Trespasser turns around:

“
It
wouldn't. I don't know why the first one arrived here, but this one has to be
linked to it somehow: it keeps correcting to hit our city. Why Glasgow, I
wonder, of all places?”

Nobody answers; he is
talking to himself.

“
Aren't
you cold, Mark?” asks Gary, nodding at Mark in his shorts.

“
Don't
seem to feel it,” Mark shrugs, and lifts his flask. “Drink probably helps.”

Asides Mark, they are
all wearing their armoured overalls, their face masks pulled atop their heads
like welders, ready to be pulled down at a moment's notice.

Gary leans in. “Here
Tony, do you reckon -”

He is cut off as the
Trespasser raises a hand for silence, pressing one finger against his ear.

“
Yes,
sir,” says Trespasser One after a pause. He turns to the squad. “It isn't
splitting. We have two minutes. Helicopter is on the way.”

“
What
do you mean not splitting?” asks Jamie. “Did the first one split?”

“
Last
time; it was a single entity until about a minute before impact, then it
fragmented – presumably to hit you guys.”

“
And
it's not doing it?”

“
Not
yet. We know the rough area it'll hit though.”

“
Wait
-” begins Jamie, and then stops. The group follow his eyes, and silence falls
over the rooftop.

A single burning point
of light is streaking through the sky, sparking like lightning as it soars over
the Glasgow rooftops. It makes no sound on its silent journey towards the
ground, trailing specks of fire and energy behind its missile-shaped body.

First it is a speck in
the distance, like a tiny sun falling from space. Then it grows as it
approaches them, and before long it is above them, passing over their heads in
the darkness of the frozen night.

Everything is still;
silent. It makes no sound – it seems, instead, to wrap itself in the darkness
and devour all noise as it vanishes into the distance, disappearing below the
city's silhouette.

“
I
have visual, send the chopper,” says the Trespasser through his comms unit, and
begins describing the trajectory and general location of the fire.

“
Should
I go?” asks Mark, legs tensed.

Busy talking, the
Trespasser nods and pats him on the back.

Mark takes a breath and
leaps into the night sky, vanishing into the crystal darkness like a
reflection.

Jamie carefully leans
out the helicopter, his mask pulled down over his face. He can see something:

On the ground below, in
the middle of the boulevard running up Sauchiehall Street, is a bright-lit
shape that he can't make out.

The street is empty and
silent, as though it is frozen in time. The shops have been boarded up, lying
empty for months.

He focuses his eyes on
the object below: it resembles a fountain, lit from beneath by a sickly green
light. There are figures lying around it, unmoving – a half naked man,
obviously Mark, stands in the middle of the road, looking up at the helicopter.
He waves them in and the Trespasser nods to Jamie, who unlatches a rope and
tosses it down.

“
Just
like in training,” the Trespasser reminds them, pushing them to the rope in
turn. Jamie is the second last to go down after a nervous, trembling Gary.

The Trespasser follows
them, meeting them on the ground.

“
Mark,
what happened?” asks the Trespasser as they pick themselves up off the road.
The helicopter disappears into the sky, leaving them in silence as it fades
into the distance. The entire street is bathed in that same bile-tinged light,
like a child's idea of radiation.

The Trespasser looks
around at the men and women in black coats lying on the ground, some of them
clutching shotguns and pistols.

Mark shakes his head
and shrugs.

“
I
think they were the King's people. They got here first.” He points at the
swirling shape standing like a modern-art monument in the road. “This thing
flashed and they just, like, fell down.”

Donald leans down,
checking pulses, and shakes his head.

“
They're
dead.”

All eyes turn to the
shape in the road. The light coming from it diminishes, and the Trespasser
brings his hand up in front of his face to see better.

“
Trespasser
One,”
Command's voice comes through his helmet.
“What
can you see? Report.”

“
It's,
uh,
something
,” he hazards, looking closer. He steps in as the squad
move around it in a semi-circle.

Dropping his hand as
the light fades away, he finally sees what is hiding within the green flames.

The squad are quiet,
staring as the shape unfolds like a puzzle.

It looks like a
blooming flower: starting like a bulb, with layers upon layers of thin,
wing-like structures overlapped. They unfurl like delicate fabric, rippling in
a non-existent breeze. Ten, then twenty, until a multitude of tendrils unfold
like the stings of a jellyfish, forming a skirt of sorts around it as the
appendages float to the ground, revealing the form underneath. On the inside,
it is a bright, chemical green, like the light from a glow-stick.

Beneath the myriad of 
- the Trespasser thinks of them as
petals
for some reason – there is
some kind of head. It resembles deep-sea creatures that he is familiar with,
the petals revealing a bony protrusion like a skull in the centre of the
flower-creature, as though this were the seed - or the fruit - at its heart.

It rises into the air,
leaving them staring at the glowing creature, constructed from wavering,
dancing organic fabrics. It billows on the wind like a ball-gown, catching a
breeze that isn't there.

“
I
think,” says the Trespasser, entrapped by its other-worldly beauty. “I think
it's an alien, sir.”

A low sound comes from
the alien as it hovers like a man treading water, a groaning bass tone that
reverberates in the Trespasser's guts. It lifts a single appendage as though it
were caught on the wind, and begins to drift towards the squad.

“
Stay
back,” says the Trespasser, feeling an unnatural fear coming over him. “We
don't know what it is.”

“
I
do,” says Mark, and steps forward.

“
Mark,
damn it, get
back -”

“
It's
ok,” Jamie is beside the Trespasser. “You don't have the fire in you; you can't
feel it, can you?”

“
Feel
what?” the Trespasser turns.

“
It's
singing. It's speaking, but not to us: to the fire in us. It doesn't want to
hurt us: watch.”

It settles onto the
ground in front of Mark, who is staring up at it in a mixture of awe and
confusion. The limb curves like a flat tongue, touching Mark's head.

Mark closes his eyes
and holds his hands out as though he is being crucified, and a green light
blooms between his skull and the appendage.

“
What
is it doing?” asks the Trespasser.

“
I
think it wants to show us something, but I can't be sure,” says Jamie. “I just
know that it means well -”

Jamie is cut off by
Mark crying out in pain and staggering back, clutching his head. His nose is
bleeding. Mark stumbles away and rolls over on the ground, his hands pressing
his temples together, his teeth gnashing as he froths at the mouth.

Donald is beside him in
a second, holding him.

“
What's
happening to him?” asks Jamie, running over.

The Trespasser pulls
the single-shot grenade launcher from his belt and points it at the creature.

“
Is
he ok?” he asks Donald, finger on the trigger.

Donald closes his eyes
and lays a hand on Mark's forehead, soothing him as he jitters and seizes on
the ground. Frowning in concentration, Donald lowers his head and tries to help
Mark with his power. He stops and stands up, dropping Mark to the ground, and
grabs his own head.

“
Don.”
Cathy cries his name and goes to catch him, and the Trespasser stops her.

“
Don't
touch him, Cathy.”

Donald begins to shake
as he falls to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. Mark is silent
now, lying on the ground like a corpse. Jamie kneels over him, looking between
his unmoving form and the Trespasser, who is watching in horror.

“
What's
happening to them?” asks Stacy, her hands on her face in shock.

Donald falls silent and
goes limp, and Cathy puts a hand to her mouth and looks up at her squad leader.
The Trespasser shakes his head.

In front of them, the
creature is beginning to shift and change, lights glowing from somewhere within
it.

“
Are
you sensing anything, Jamie?” he shouts.

Jamie shakes his head.
“Mark's breathing,” he offers, looking lost.

Cathy kneels in and
checks Donald.

“
So
is Don,” she sighs. “He's just unconscious. I think he's dreaming.”

Jamie looks closer at
Mark. “Yeah, Mark's lips are moving – only faintly, but they're moving.”

The Trespasser keeps
the grenade launcher trained on the alien as it begins to glow brighter. The
silk appendages come up again to cover it like a cocoon, and then it is once
again a layered seedling hovering in the air, hidden as though it is shy.

There's a flash of
green light, and the figure bursts into cold flames. He watches it change,
losing track of the burning flower-bulb as it contorts and shifts before his
eyes.

When it settles on
another shape, it is that of a human: two legs, a torso, arms and a head. It
still glows faintly green, as though somebody has cut a human-shaped light out
of the air. It has no face or defining features – it is a gingerbread man, a
cardboard cut-out, a silhouette of a human.

“
Who
are you?” shouts the Trespasser, as though the alien is a common criminal.
“What have you done to my men?”

The figure doesn't look
at him; it has taken the shape of a human without taking on any of the
mannerisms of one.