Tom Scott turned the temperature dial to the hottest setting he could stand. He bent his head slightly, palms flat against the wall as the water pummeled down down on his shoulder blades. Taking deep breaths, the supposedly invigorating aroma of the citrus body wash did little to make him feel any better. Scott had always scoffed at the fact that the average life expectancy for someone in his field of work was thirty-five. Now scarred, broken and aching at twenty-two, he doubted he'd even live that long.

Scott wrapped a towel around his waist and went over to the sink; wiping away the mist on the mirror. He ran his thumb across his chin, the light brown hairs prickled. To hell with it! He had neither the time nor inclination to shave. Given his recent, unusual run of injuries, he'd probably end up accidentally slitting his throat with the razor anyway. His eyes travelled down his chest and he grimaced at the sight of his bruised body. The doctor had insisted on strapping up his ribs, but Scott wasn't having any of that.

The door to the locker room opened and Zeke entered; his light blue t-shirt wringing with sweat.

"Good workout?"

Zeke nodded briefly, walked over to his locker, took out a towel and placed it on the centre bench. Scott picked up his wash kit and pile of dirty clothes.

"How's things?"

"Huh!" Zeke turned to him. For an instant Zeke couldn't seem to place Scott.

"I asked how things are going."

"Err... good, things are good."

"So, what's happening?" Scott threw on a grey t-shirt from one of the four sets of clean clothes he kept on standby.

"The General's just left for the evening and taken the girl back to his. One of the biggest security details we've ever run."

"I thought she was supposed to be going back home."

"Yeah, so did we, but he changed his mind."

"I bet Hannah wasn't too impressed with that!"

Zeke looked at Scott puzzled. "Hannah?"

"Hannah Page, the girl. Hey, are you okay, you seem a little... off?"

For a moment Zeke stood still, staring into his empty locker. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired from having had to find and save your sorry ass."

Scott laughed lightly and stepped into a pair of standard issue, black fatigues, pulling at the drawstring waist. He pushed a little further.

"When was the last time you took a break?

Zeke stared into the distance. "You know, I don't remember."

"You need some downtime. Go home, take a break."

"I wish, but I've got a long night ahead of me downstairs."

Scott immediately recognised what the term downstairs meant. "Who've you got down there then?"

Zeke looked at Scott, clearly unsure whether to answer him or not.

"Matheson, I've got full clearance remember and if it wasn't for my recent absence I'd be down there too." Scott tied the lace on his training shoe.

"Yes, of course," Zeke replied. "We think we've got a big-catch down there. Someone Briggs is very interested in."

"Who's that then?"

"Cecily Waring"

Scott stopped tying his shoe lace. "What, how?"

"Cecily Waring. You know, the woman that Briggs has had every department looking for, for years even though every report suggested she was dead." Zeke began to undress. "To be honest, I thought she was long dead, but here she is alive, downstairs and being quite forthcoming; I haven't had to exert too much pressure, yet."

Scott winced, what the hell had they done to Matheson? Did he have no recollection of her at all and what the hell had he been doing to her? Scott had to see her and soon.

"Hey, I've got an hour to kill, mind if I sit in?"

"No problem. I'll meet you down there in five." Zeke picked up his towel and walked into the showers.

The lift descended several floors down to the basement. To open the sliding door, Scott waved his pass card over a small grey box just below the panel. There were only two means of entry into this area- the restricted lift and a back entrance which went straight into the underground car park, via the heavily armed and guarded security hub for the entire building. Built over a hundred years earlier as a fall-out shelter, its walls were made from thick steel, enveloped in metres of reinforced concrete. Supported by its own off-grid communications network and a separate ventilation system, the facility even had access to a deep, underground spring, with a still functioning filtration system. The rows of bunk beds and three years' worth of food and supplies had long since been removed, its function now repurposed for something altogether more brutal.

The doors opened and Scott walked into the cool, subterranean reception area. A security guard approached him and checked his ID via a handheld retinal scanner.

"Good evening. Are you carrying any firearms or any digital communication or recording devices tonight, Sir?" asked the young guard.

"Yes."

"Could you please place them inside one of these lockers?" he said pointing the small stack.

Scott nodded and placed his handgun and ComDat inside.

"Thank you. Agent Matheson has already called down and asked that you wait for him in the observation area.

Scott walked through several set of double doors, each one accessed by a swipe of his card. At the third set of doors he entered a wide open area. This was once a communal recreation area, with individual bedrooms leading off it designed for society's great and the good. Now it had rows of seating positioned in front of a large number of one-way, reinforced windows. From the centre point of the room, one was able to watch in and listen to any interrogation being carried out by the use of wireless headsets.

Scott walked the perimeter of the room slowly, looking in at each window. The first cell he came to was occupied by a man Scott knew well and had spent several months trying to find. Samuel Woods or The Note, as he was known, was a counterfeiter. Money, identity papers- there wasn't anything he couldn't forge. It was rumoured that a third of the currency circulating around the Flawed districts was down to his skilled hand. More recently he had diversified into money lending. He was finally caught and arrested after the banks complained to Briggs that he was undercutting them on the interest rates set for higher-level Flawed borrowers.

As he continued his tour he saw several other people he recognised: an arms dealer, an embezzler, and several high ranking officials who had got too big for their positions and started taking liberties. These were the prisoners that Briggs wanted under lock and key, but who still served a purpose or source of information. They were lucky to still be in these cells. As difficult as conditions could be for them here, they weren't anywhere near as bad as the local detention centres or worse still, meeting their end in front of the weekly firing squad, the most public of their state-sanctioned executions.

As he approached the last cell, Scott saw a figure lying under a thin, navy blanket on a narrow bunk. From a distance all he could see was a mess of silver curls peeking out from the blanket. Scott came closer, his nose almost touching the glass. The last time they'd met, he'd been the weak and vulnerable one. Now Cecily was before him, unmoving and if he didn't know better, he'd think it was a small child beneath the blanket, her form appearing so small and fragile. He picked up a set of headphones hanging from a hook to his right and put them on. He listened intently to her deep, raspy breathing, the sound punctuated only by the regular drip of water coming from a tap in the corner of the room. In...out...drip...in...out...drip...in...out ...drip... then nothing, except...drip...drip. The icy fingers of panic gripped at his chest. Drip...drip... She wasn't breathing. Cecily wasn't breathing. He took a couple of steps back, to get a better look at the window. There was no access point from this side, he'd need to go down a service corridor at the back to gain access to her cell, but that would take time. He strained to listen and still heard only the droplets hitting the metal hand basin.

"Help, somebody, quick! She's not breathing,'" he shouted. His voice echoed around the large room.

The guard who had let him in earlier rushed in through the door.

"What is it?"

"She's not breathing."

He turned back around to find Cecily sat bolt upright in the bed, facing directly at him. She couldn't hear him and she certainly couldn't see him, but somehow she knew someone was there.

"She looks okay to me." The guard said, a smirk evident in his voice, as he sauntered back out of the room.

Cecily looked far from okay. Her face was swollen and bruised in places and her lip split open. She looked at least twenty years older than when he'd last seen her, yet her milky eyes stared defiantly at him through the one-way glass. How the hell was he going to get her out of here?

"Good, she's awake."

Scott turned to see Zeke behind him.

"Do you want to watch from here or come in?"

Scott hesitated for a second. If he entered the room, she might realise it was him and give the game away. Zeke had somehow been turned, so the less he knew of Scott's recent dealings with Cecily the better, but he knew there was no way he could just stand and watch her being interrogated from out here.

"I'll join you."

"Good."

Zeke lead the way through another set of doors and down a poorly lit service corridor. Upon reaching the door of the cell, Zeke opened it with his pass card and entered first. Scott reluctantly followed.

Once inside Scott surveyed the room. Cecily sat on the edge of the bunk which was situated on the far side of the sparsely furnished room. A table with one chair, both fixed to the floor was positioned in the centre of the room and to the left was a toilet and shower cubicle, just hidden behind a small, obscured opaque screen.

"Take a seat, Cecily."

The older woman, sighed, stood up slowly and carefully shuffled over in the direction of the table. She reached out and found the back of the chair and pulled herself towards it and sat down.

"I believe you have brought company with you tonight, Mr Matheson. Would you be so good as to introduce us?"

"Indeed I have. Cecily, I'd like you to meet Agent Scott."

Scott realised he was holding his breath. Cecily smiled and looked directly towards him.

"Good evening, Agent Scott, or is it good morning? I'm sorry I seem to have somewhat lost track of the time."

He exhaled. "Hello, Miss Waring."

Another uniformed guard entered the room with two chairs and positioned them on the opposite side of the table. Zeke gestured to Scott to sit.

"Cecily, I'd like to ask you a few extra questions about an organisation we believe that you have links to." Zeke sat down and placed a folder and pen on to the table top.

"And which organisation is that, Mr Matheson? I've been a member of several groups over the years, most recently I've been helping out a group which funds medical treatment for Flawed children with treatable sight conditions."

"That's very commendable Cecily. No, actually I'm referring to your links with the organisation called Parity."

"Parity, no, sorry, never heard of them. Are they a charity, Mr Matheson, I do love to support a worthwhile charity?" She smiled sweetly at Zeke.

"Cecily, you know exactly what I'm talking about and things will remain nice and pleasant here if we stop this silly dance."

"I used to love to dance a long, long time ago. Agent Scott, do you like to dance?"

"Not especially, Miss Waring."

"Now that is a shame. A young man like you needs to find a good dancing partner and go for a turn, as we used to say. Do you have a partner, Agent Scott?"

Scott had sat in on countless interviews, but this one was certainly different. On their last meeting Cecily seemed sharp and alert, yet now she appeared to be rambling.

"I bet you have, Agent Scott. I bet you have a lovely young lady that you are sweet on. Well you take care of that young lady and you keep her safe." She reached over the table and grasped at Scott's hand. "Maybe take her away for a bit, treat her to a nice holiday, someplace far from here."

Cecily wasn't being random at all, she was being cryptic.

"I'm very busy with work at the moment, but I'll be sure to keep her safe," he replied carefully. Cecily squeezed his hand and let go.

Zeke interrupted. "I'm sure Agent Scott is much obliged for your thoughtful relationship advice, but If I could redirect you to my earlier question. What do you know about Parity?

"Okay, Mr Matheson, seeing as you've asked so nicely this time. Parity is an organisation which endeavours to bring about equality for all and wishes to abolish the practice of grading. We strongly believe that no one is truly Flawed and that all people should be treated fairly in this society. We also believe that General Briggs is tyrant, devoid of humanity and should be removed from power. Is that they type of information you're looking for or would you like me to be more candid, Mr Matheson?"

Zeke's mouth fell open. She might as well have just signed her own death warrant.

"Cecily... I think you should," Scott tried to prevent her from saying anything that could further incriminate herself, but Cecily continued unabashed. "For over twenty years I have taken every opportunity to stand against Briggs and his corrupt rule. I have planned and lead uprisings and resistance, I've helped raise the funds to buy arms and I have done everything in my power to stand up against that man. My network is run in such a way, that the minute you apprehended me, my contacts have gone to ground and you will not find them. You can do with me what you will, exert any means necessary, Mr Matheson, but I will not give you any further information and I most certainly will not give you any names."

Zeke finally found his voice. "Miss Waring, you have been most enlightening, however I'm sure General Briggs will now insist that I resort to more 'scientific' ways to gather the necessary information you are reluctant to share."

"Well, I wish you good luck with that Mr Matheson. I know exactly what methods you're describing, methods, I do believe you are most familiar with yourself recently. I should also point out that such methods tend not to work on people of advancing years or those with life limiting illnesses. You'll find I fit into both camps there."

Both Zeke and Scott looked at the woman puzzled. Right at that minute she seemed far from old or unwell. She spoke with such clarity and confidence. "I have a serious heart condition, gentlemen, and one that will undoubtedly kill me most likely sooner than later. I don't think there is any purpose in continuing this charade, is there, Mr Matheson. Why don't you run along and brief the General about our conversation."

Zeke stared in silence at Cecily for a short while. Scott thought he saw a flicker of emotion, possibly sadness in his eyes. With a thud, Zeke closed his notebook and stood up sharply. "Good evening, Miss Waring," he said and left the room quickly leaving Scott still opposite to Cecily. A large tear welled in the corner of her eye, threatening to spill down her cheek.

"I don't know how to help you out of this," Scott whispered as quietly as he could.

"I don't expect you to, Tom. Just take care of Hannah, get her far away from Briggs, so that she can have the life she deserves, not the one she's been given."

Scott brushed his hand quickly and gently over the top of hers and then left the room. He caught up with Zeke; they collected their items from the lockers, left the basement, and travelled back up in the lift in complete silence. The door opened and they stepped out into the busy foyer.

"I'm going to go and call Briggs. Do you want to sit in?"

Scott shook his head. "Sorry, I've got to spend the night working on the security detail for Briggs's big event."

"She's a remarkable woman, isn't she?" Zeke asked.

Scott nodded. "Yes, she is. "I've rarely seen such bravery or stupidity or both."

"Indeed." Zeke walked off to make the call.

Scott made his way to his office and locked the door behind him. He sat for a while nursing a glass of his preferred amber liqueur. The fiery heat of the alcohol did little to thaw the chill in his body and he pushed the glass to one side and pulled up the relevant staff list on the computer and scoured each individual file. This event was growing by the day and Briggs was expecting boots on the ground, lots of them. He clicked on the search parameters button and a list of options appeared: sex, age, rank, unit, and length of service... finally the last option – SPR. A further drop down menu appeared and he selected the last option. Up flashed a long list of names. These were the lowest ranked, barely regarded soldiers in the army or as Briggs liked to describe them, cannon-fodder. That was why there were so many of them. These were the soldiers directly on the front line of any battle: when one fell, another immediately took their place. Their numbers dwarfed every other senior unit.

Scott highlighted the entire list and pressed the request button. A message would now be sent to their units to manage the mobilisation. When Briggs looked out from the podium in twenty-four hours at the sea of faces before him, he would, no doubt be comforted by the heavily armed, uniformed presence, surrounding the arena; an awe-inspiring display of the power of his rule. And with just a few words, Briggs would unknowingly announce the demotion of each and every one of those forces assigned to protect him.