The Phantom Orchestra

By Mr. Mad

Just before the end of the WWIII, much of the information that kept the world was lost. The civilization was sent back decades in time in many ways, a scenario very similar to the beginning of the XXI century. Rabden, where these events occurred, became a haven for crime, a corrupt police department and an idle government that allowed it to become one of the most dangerous cities.
Amid this chaos, a group of civilians fight clandestinely the biggest mafias, and fight to keep the little order that remains in the city. They are known as the Phantom Orchestra.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palibrio
• Release date: Jun 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781463359096

Mr. Mad

Francisco Alejandro Resendiz Guerrero nació en Morelia en Agosto de 1995. Se mudó con su madre y padre a Zamora, Michoacán, cuando tenía 2 años. Fue a la escuela primaria y secundaria, donde se destacó en matemáticas y compitió en varios torneos de matemáticas durante sus años de secundaria, donde obtuvo el segundo lugar en una ocasión y tercero en otra. También escribió su primer poema: "La Medusa". El terminó su primer libro cuando tenía 16 años. Se graduó de la escuela secundaria en 2012 y actualmente está estudiando Creación Literaria en el Centro Regional de las Artes de Zamora.

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Copyright © 2013 by Mr. Mad.

Translation by Athena Lynn Perez.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2013910195

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4633-5911-9

              Softcover     978-1-4633-5910-2

              Ebook         978-1-4633-5909-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Rev. date: 11/06/2013

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Contents

Introduction

1. Crisis

2. The Morning Routine

3. Take your Violin

4. The Phantom Orchestra

5. Vigilantes

6. The Training

7. Questions and Answers

8. The Deserter

9. Hell

10. The Last Day

11. First Battle

12. The Trap

13. Suspicions and Bribes

14. The Time and the Place

15. Sacrifice

16. Tomb of Ghosts

17. Nostalgia

18. The Funeral List

19. Treason

20. The Capture

21. Into the Hurricane Eye

22. The Crime

23. Vengeance

24. The Duel

25. Malcom vs. Morton

26. The Phantom Spy Agency

Introduction

Just before the end of the third world war, much of the information that kept the world on the spiral of chaos was lost. The result was that civilization was sent back decades in time in many ways, a scenario very similar to the beginning of the XXI century. Rabden, where these events occurred, became one of the main ports for smuggling, a haven for crime, and a corrupt police department and an idle government that allowed it to become one of the most dangerous cities in the world.

1.

Crisis

There are fewer resources all the time so you must lower yourselves to get a crumb of bread, and lower yourselves even more to conserve it. With a slight bow, Evan took leave from the public with this statement and retired to what he thought was a kind of clubhouse. As he sat before the mirror, he saw a different man than he remembered; he looked tired and rather weak, not resembling the strong and outgoing 27 year old he was. After this reflection, he rubbed his eyes and remembered the events that had led to his current position.

Before graduating, he recorded a video about the crisis and suffering in the country. Soon after, they had called him to offer a scholarship on the condition that he make an entire documentary. After presenting the documentary, he was asked to give lectures, which was when he was offered the small auditorium where he was now.

If he really thought about it, it was strange and even illogical that he had been offered such a small establishment, knowing the demand for tickets from the public and the richness of the channel that had hired him. Evan held the papers in his briefcase, put on his coat and hat and headed out through the small door leading to the back of the theater. Leaving was in a gloomy holder; it was winter and almost midnight, so the cold that enveloped him now was not unusual—the atmosphere was cold for another reason.

He started walking down the old and worn sidewalk, paying special attention to the irregularities, even more because of the dark, not to mention other barriers; piled garbage everywhere, walls, signs and light poles covered in street graffiti and notices of missing persons. Moisture blew steam rising from the sewers and alleys, obscuring visibility. The streetlights were useless and the only lights on the street came from neon signs.

There were at least three car crashes that gave off large quantities of smoke, while in the distance you could hear the sirens of ambulances and patrol cars. As he walked, he nearly collided with a stop sign that one of the cars had twisted, he slipped and fell, swearing, he rose and shook the dirt from his coat and headed his car.

The atmosphere reminded him of his team, his world, his research (which he had used to accelerate aging) . . . Of course! How could he forget, he was so close he could almost smell the answer. He grabbed his briefcase tighter and started walking faster.

As he passed an alley, no bigger than a small house, he heard himself called by name. He stopped short to avoid slipping on the icy road, and turned his head. Evan was sure he knew the voice of the subject, not quite remembering who it was, he looked up to see his face, the subject stepped back into the shadows, raised his left arm, aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

2.

The Morning Routine

The annoying sound of a cheap alarm clock interrupted Malcolm’s dreams. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a note taped to the ceiling, he did not know what it said nor did he want to know. His next thought was very simple: Another Day.

Malcolm straightened, swung his feet off the bed, tousled his hair, brushed off his clothes to freshen up and took a quick look at his suite which contrasted to what lived on the other side of the window. It was clean, tidy and there was almost nothing besides the furniture; the minimalist style. After a quick shower, he dressed in a simple suit jacket and tie, and then headed to the kitchen. As he opened the cupboard he realized he was hungry, there was some cereal, but it was too little to satisfy him and he did not want to start and later his stomach would keep demanding more—he would buy something on the way to work.

He took his laptop and headed for the door. Before turning the knob, he stopped and looked at his watch (still his favorite part of the routine), inhaled deeply, gathered some courage and went out. Just what he wanted; his neighbor Deborah, a modest beauty but with a soul more beautiful than the angels, judging by the large number of banners under her arm and apparent haste she was headed to another protest.

Hi, Deborah. Malcolm’s voice came out strangely hoarse after just hearing his own sharp thoughts.

Uh… Hi, Malcolm, how are you today? Deborah could barely hold on to everything she was carrying.

I am fine, thanks for your concern, Malcolm said, almost completely paralyzed. The signs and banners fell from Deborah’s hand.

Oh no! Deborah complained, resting her hands on her hips. Sorry to bother you Malcolm, could you help me with the banners? she asked, pointing to the cartons on the floor.

Malcolm’s mind was slow to react. When he did, he bent down as fast as he could to make up the time. What is it this time? he said, with an effort to keep his voice from trembling as he collected the banners.

They let out a prisoner who had supposedly received a life sentence, Deborah replied, panting slightly.

Sorry I cannot help more. I think I will be working late today.

Again? Deborah said, letting the signs and banners fall again. Malcolm picked them up a second time. She pointed at his chest and said, You need a vacation.

That reminds me, Deborah continued, waiting for Malcolm’s attention. When he straightened, she said, I am going to have a party. Today in the suite… yes, I reported it to reception, she added cheerfully, guessing Malcolm’s thoughts while the two moved to the elevator that had just opened.

Malcolm felt butterflies in his stomach; Deborah had invited him to a party. Although he did not like modern parties because of the noise, and (very frequently) the lack of common interests with the other guests, he thought of seeking space in his schedule so he would not disappoint Deborah.

What are you saying? Deborah said so abruptly that Malcolm almost dropped the banners, when he realized that they had reached the door of the hotel.

What am I saying? Malcolm repeated.

You said something about a schedule, and then you continued thinking. Deborah looked at her watch and exclaimed, No! Sorry Malcolm, I must go. She snatched the banners from Malcolm, kissed him on the cheek and ran in direction of the center colliding with almost everyone who crossed her path.

Malcolm felt as if his stomach had evaporated. All week he had committed himself to making a good impression on Deborah, and like all week, had failed. Malcolm growled, slightly stooped, and began walking.

As always, since he had lived in the hotel, a woman was handing out leaflets about cancer and begging. Malcolm would have donated some money if he knew it would not end up with someone so rich that the donation would go unnoticed. Just behind this was a convenience store where he bought his usual vanilla cappuccino and donut. As usual during the past month, there was a homeless man asking for cigarettes a block away from the subway.

Just like every day, the subway was too crowded to get on, so Malcolm and the others at the station waited for the next train which was as usual, empty. Once Malcom got off the train, he strode through the square surrounded by skyscrapers that for some 3 ½ months smelled and was almost deserted due to the new natural fertilizer the gardeners had chosen.

When Malcolm arrived at the building where he worked and breathed the fresh air (filtered by inefficient external fans), he realized that something had broken the routine. The inner courtyard, wide, high and mostly with windows to the outside, was almost completely empty and the silence was broken only by the whisper of the broom against the floor and file papers against each other. Perhaps it was early, Malcom checked his watch. It was the right time, so… why had he not heard the usual bustle of the morning?

Malcolm took the elevator. When the doors closed leaving him alone, he hit a button, leaned against the wall and hoped that on the floor where he worked he would not hear the usual gossip and laughter that barely permitted him to work. When the doors opened, his hopes shattered on the floor, the atmosphere was happy and festive—it was probably someone’s birthday. His co-workers greeted him with a wave of the hand in the same order they always had because they had to stay at their workstations (which, unfortunately for Malcolm, did not prevent them from gossiping and disrupting the place).

Malcolm responded similarly and continued walking. He arrived at his office, closed the glass door and the noise lowered to almost nothing. He put his briefcase beside his desk, sat down, set his arms next to the keyboard of the computer, got comfortable and thought: To work.

3.

Take your Violin

Malcolm worked that morning as usual until almost noon, when the director of Human Resources announced over the loudspeaker that the company had filed for bankruptcy and they had to let the entire staff go without compensation pay. Malcolm understood at that moment why everything had been so quiet in the lobby since he had arrived, (somehow) the secretary had heard of future layoffs and had communicated this information to the entire ground floor, perhaps with the condition not to spread the news so that the gossip would not reach her co-workers ears.

When Malcolm left his office, the noise was worse than before. Passing through the corridor, he realized panic and chaos reigned throughout the building; the former employees were destroying computers and files, and burning the desks and wooden file cabinets. The few people who were not increasing clutter were crying inconsolably or ruffling their hair, apparently thinking of what to do to avoid ruin.

Moments later, Malcolm was sitting on a bench in the square, the smell not bothering him—he had more important things to think about. Malcolm thought of his suite (luxurious but cheap), the reason he had been living there was because of the crisis, he had been saving to travel abroad but now the current crisis had taken away that opportunity.

Malcolm pulled the phone out of his pocket. Not believing what he was doing, he opened the device, sought a name, pressed a button, brought the phone to his ear, and waited. There was a beep, another beep—Malcolm lost his self-confidence.

Hello.

Deborah, ho… hi, Malcolm replied awkwardly.

Hello Malcom! I was not expecting you to call, how are you?

Just calling to tell you that I will be going to the party, Malcolm said almost whispering because of the nervousness that had