Opus Veda

Imany's chopsticks rolled off the bowl's lip and twinkled over the floor. She landed in the real world, aware of the cooling dinner on her lap, the rice mount she didn't want.

Someone stopped outside her door. A few seconds delay. A tepid knock.

Kasia. What did she want? Imany opened the door and found Sermon with her, wearing a principled frown. She tutted.

"Off to play cowboys and revolutionaries against the landlord, is that it?"

They both looked down. With a disappointed exhale she left the door open and arranged somewhere for them to sit. Kasia found the room messier than usual; full of uneaten food and unwashed laundry. The Taoist shrine's offering bowl fought for space with a can of cockroach spray. In it's incense burner, cigarette butts.

The guests sat. Imany stood over them, arms folded, waiting.

"You basically sussed it out…" Sermon nodded thoughtfully, "we know where she is, we know how to get to her, and there's no other way."

"I've been stewing over her too, silicon-faced little bint...." Imany sighed, "but if you turn up at her door so much could go wrong, no matter how well you behave."

"Ideally we'd have someone with us who could handle confrontation," his brow raised, "someone old school who can regulate without creatin' a scene."

"Can't set your new mates on her then; gotta rely on some old bird with no social media? Go on. Where is she?"

Sermon grit his teeth. His head cocked sideways.

"Islington."

Imany flapped her arms about and scoffed.

"Jason's sortin' us a cab!" Sermon held his hands up to calm her, "We'll take it offline for a few hours and go for a spin."

She laughed and shivered. Sermon turned to Kasia for help.

"Imany you know this shit better than anyone! Do one more job for the road! If this works you'll help the entire estate. And you told me I should ask for help more, so…"she reached inside her hoodie, pulled her knife out, and offered it to Imany, "are you with us?"

Sermon's eyes bulged at the weapon in Kasia's hand. Imany pushed it aside with the back of her fingers.

"I gave you that to defend yourself and your girl, not to shank landlords."

"You gave that to Kash!?" Sermon huffed, "Gwarn' Imi let's have one as well! The three of us together, we'll turn that bitch's mansion into Samurai Champloo!"

Imany glared. Her arm reached under the sink and pulled out a cardboard tube. Out of it slipped a lacquered scabbard. She drew a katana, hissing against its cover, serrated with glittering black and silver.

It whirled around the room. A metallic note sang flat in the air. The blade's tip stopped at Sermon's face, and as he reeled back it pursued, pressing a dimple in his chin.

"Is this what you want, is it?" Imany sneered, "spill some blood but it's fine if it's for poor people?"

"All we wanna do is have a word with her!" Sermon gulped, "the sword can stay in the glove box."

"'Ave a word… Why the fuck would she listen to you? Hmm!? She's been raised from birth to believe she's better than you, and she is."

Kasia again tried to save her ally.

"We'll just talk… if she refuses to help us, maybe then we try something else. Make her help…" Kasia realised how amateur she sounded. Imany's sneer twisted into a smile, shaming her. The katana swung right and lifted Kasia's chin, making her face its wielder.

"You're gonna make her… She'll have enough solicitors on this estate to bury you under it. Even if all you did was talk, she'd still do you for daring to."

"But we wouldn't be breaking any -"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Who'd give a shit!? Better women than you have been punished without breakin' the law. People like Ali Hogarth ain't like vagrants. You threaten her sense of power and control, she'll wanna destroy you."

She raised the sword, resting it on her shoulder. Her gaze wandered.

"When that gang attacked I got one of them before he could flee. Young lad, one rung of the ladder below you Kasia. I pinned him against the concrete and cracked his skull against it - took him out in one. The police knew I did it and didn't care; the locals saw me do it and never spoke up; no one cared. If someone hurts you Kasia, that's all you'll get from everyone above us."

"So what do we do then!? Rise above it!?" Kasia stood up, taller than Imany but still inferior, "you've always looked out for us, you can handle yourself like no one I've ever met. So either you join us or we're gonna try on our own."

Sermon watched cautiously. Imany circled the katana into its sheath.

"I'm gonna talk to the letting agency. Online, the proper way. Without you two pissin' around behind my back. If I get no reply, I promise," she shook her weapon, "we'll start speakin' Japanese."

Free of any sword hanging overhead, Sermon rose up and tutted.

"Yea and by that point she'll be prepared for us, whereas now -"

"You two need stop actin' like heroes 'cause you ain't!"

"We can't do nothin'!"

"I'm not sayin' that though am I!"

"Bull shit! Do it the proper way… has your own life not taught you yet Imi?" he held his finger aloft and made a line with it, "you take the high road you ain't findin' any friends up there."

Imany snickered, "the thought of you two lost in Islington, hidin' under your hoodies like some Opus Veda cosplay... Listen carefully: you gotta escalate this sorta thing step by step. If you turn up on her door straight away she'll have your guts, but if we have proof we tried to do it normally, and got ignored, then maybe the police - and the public - will take our side if we break the rules."

Sermon exhaled and shook his head with disbelief, "one email?"

"One. Then you can both die on your landlords doorstep," she held the door open and ushered them out, "assuming the revolution doesn't kill you first. Either way you're startin' to fuckin' deserve it."

* * *

Being at her fiancé's workplace felt strange to Scarlett. She didn't know what to wear, surrounded by volatile police officers at a time when suspicions were high. To fit in she had opted for some of Gemma's clothes - muted everyday staples - and hidden her messy dyed hair under a beanie.

Southwark Police Station was full with staff, but tense with a chilly silence. Their casualties had been kept on-site, cordoned off in a triage ward, in some shadowy corner of the brutalist old building. Brandishing her visitor pass like a shield, Scarlett followed the reception officer around gloomy corridors stacked with office furniture and ancient hardware.

They reached a door draped with plastic flaps. She marched ahead of her guide and pushed into the ward.

Two rows of teal curtains greeted her, connected by a corridor dense with gowned medical staff. A nurse opened a curtain, revealing two orderlies removing an empty bed. A fatality? Scarlett's heart thumped. Her mind questioned the worst.

The reception officer grabbed her attention, pointing to where she needed to go. She thanked them and slipped between the curtains.

"Oh Christ."

Gemma craned her neck. Her narrow eyes forced themselves open. She was lying flat, bundled under blankets and attached to machines. An oxygen mask covered her face. Her olive skin had turned ashen.

Scarlett pecked Gemma's forehead with her lips, then pressed her nose against it. Gemma's chest rose. They held together until Scarlett noticed clutter on the bedside table. She took the chair and began arranging everything just as Gemma would like.

"I know what you would say right now: I should have stayed at uni and you didn't need me to visit. The thing is, today's lecture is 'diversity struggles in early 21st century cinema'. It will be us watching clips of smug Hollywood liberals getting hounded by sexless autistic men. Dicks, complaining about twats. Even you are less depressing, so I blagged this visitor pass to come and bother you."

Gemma squinted; her eyes wrinkled. Behind her mask she was smiling. She tried to push her hand up. Scarlett caught it with her own hand and intertwined their fingers, but before she could say anything else, Gemma was asleep.

The curtain rustled. A hunched figure limped through it, bruised and leaning on a crutch. Scarlett pouted.

"Life is indeed cruel, if someone like you comes out of a terrorist attack better than my Gemma did."

Luis held his hand to his heart, "Scarlett it's so nice to see you; been a while."

She stood and offered him the chair, "I came as soon as I found out... what the hell happened?"

Luis sat with a wince.

"The good news is our Superintendent is having the shittest week of his career. Possibly his last. He chose to have us chase after the exposed terrorist, in that whimsical, spur-of-the-moment way middle managers like to do. One of the bastards must have slipped a bomb in our car. Four dead. Seven in serious condition. Gemma's lucky, some of our teammates won't be walking again," he frowned, "did you not even hear the blast?"

Scarlett sighed and shook her head, "there was literally nothing online. If the station hadn't messaged me I wouldn't have known."

"It was a warning. Opus Veda kept it away from the public and media, got their spy back undercover, and made it clear to us that if we keep harassing them, we're fucked."

"And are you?" she gripped Gemma's flaccid hand, "getting set after them again."

"Better not be… apparently it's gone back up to Home Sec. We're waiting to find out our boss's fate, then we'll learn ours."

The reception officer opened the curtain. A stern doctor was with them. It was time for Scarlett to leave. She kissed Gemma's hand, nodded to Luis, and left.

Luis propped himself up with his crutch and ambled back to his bed. His battered overcoat draped over it. It's inner pocket bulged. He pulled out the evidence bag - a stack of photos, the story of a sister doomed by cancer and poverty, and a brother one tragedy away from terrorism.

He groaned. Bored, alone, and powerless to do anything. He wanted this limbo to end.