Forged in Flames

By Andrew Horrigan

Present day Sydney, but this is not the city you know.
Super powered heroes and villains stalk the streets, swim the waters and soar through the skies.
Every one of them registered, catalogued and government approved. Most of them anyway.
Sasha and Alexis, are on the hunt for the people responsible for their parent’s deaths.
Their quest for knowledge soon becomes one for revenge and then of survival as the shadowy mastermind behind their tragedy once again uses them as unwilling tools.
Along the way they gather other allies with unusual powers and abilities and set their sights on bringing down the mysterious organisation and its sinister leader.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Publishers / ASPG
• Release date: Dec 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781923087828

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Between midnight and dawn, when the night is still too young to be the day before but too old to be the next morning. An unremarkable house, a neat, modest two-storey home just like the other houses in the street. The garden is well tended with a sizable front. The wan yellow-orange illumination from the streetlights filters through the leaves of an ash tree but does little to reduce the trip hazard caused by the assortment of children’s playthings littering the front lawn.

A tabby cat crosses the yard. It pauses occasionally to sniff delicately at one item or another. It comes to the fence at the side of the block, and with a clatter and scraping of claws on wood, unnaturally loud in the eerie early morning stillness, leaps atop the fence. It perches there and licks its forepaw surveying the area, perhaps uncomfortable someone may have observed its less than graceful ascent.

Satisfied it had not been seen, it pads delicately along the fence. It stops when it comes to the side door. Its food and water dishes sit on the doorstep. From here it senses both are empty. It expresses its displeasure by extending its rear leg and washing its nether regions. It licks fastidiously for a while, pausing occasionally to check if its actions have made an impression on the empty food bowl.

When after several minutes no food materialises, it takes further action, extricating itself from its awkward position it arranges itself more securely on the fence. It looks towards the door with the offending food bowl and prepares to leap onto the step.

The figure wore a skin-tight outfit, but it was impossible to identify the colour in the dim illumination thrown from the streetlights. It was the same shade as its surroundings. It gave the tabby cat’s head a twist, placed the limp corpse silently on the ground and glided to the side door, careful to avoid the empty bowls arranged on the stoop. It placed a hand against the wood of the doorframe and waited, all but invisible in the shadows. There was a faint clack from the interior and the door swung open noiselessly. The figure slid inside, and the door closed with nothing more than another faint click.

Time passed; the moon began to set, showing only half its face, its weak glow contributing nothing but deeper shadows to the streetscape. Suddenly the night erupted in fire and noise. Smoke and flames blossomed from shattering windows in the upper storey of the house. The force of the explosion rattled panes in houses up and down the street. Car alarms wailed and honked, rousing the peaceful suburb from slumber.

George Stephens was only ever a light sleeper at the best of times, and when the windows of his bedroom shook and rattled, he was instantly awake. He rose quickly, saw the flickering orange glow spilling around the edges of the curtains and grabbed his mobile phone from the nightstand as he got up. He opened the curtains and saw fire and smoke belching from the house across the road. He stabbed the three-digit number for emergency service into his phone.

Police, Fire or Ambulance? the tiny voice on the other end of the phone queried.

All three please, George replied in a voice a lot calmer than he felt. There’s a fire at 221 Deloraine Street, Bentwood Estate.

Emergency vehicles are on the way. Do you know the cause of the fire?

Sorry, no idea. I just woke up. I think there was an explosion. There are flames coming out of the upstairs windows and a lot of smoke. As he spoke, George made his way outside and stood on the footpath outside his house. I can’t see anyone outside, but… he paused and listened.

Sir? asked the operator. Are you still there, Sir?

Sorry operator, I was listening. It’s hard to hear over the car alarms, but I think I can hear crying from the house, George explained, a note of panic rising in his voice. He crossed the road trying to hear the cries again. The house belongs to the Michaels family, and they have twin girls, about two years old.

Sir, emergency personnel are on the way and will be there very soon. Do not enter the house.

One of the car alarms howling nearby abruptly ceased its noise and faintly George heard the far-off wail of a siren. Still cradling the phone, he looked from the burning house to the direction of the distant wail and back. The operator’s voice still buzzed in his ear, imploring him not to do anything foolish and to wait for the emergency responders, but now George could clearly hear the cries of frightened children from the house.

Damn it, George muttered, and ran towards the front door of the house.

Other neighbours emerged from their homes as George frantically tried the front door. It was locked. The phone was still in his hand, so George used it to break a small pane of glass at the side of the door. He cleared the shards of glass from the frame, so he could reach through and undo the deadbolt. He could still hear the voice of the operator faintly but strangely all he could think was how tough the phone was. He opened the door and was greeted with billows of acrid smoke. He lifted his T-shirt to cover his mouth and nose, wishing he had thought to grab a dressing gown or overcoat.

He could clearly hear the girls’ cries now, coming from upstairs. The roiling smoke pouring down the staircase was limned with the orange glow of the flames behind, but George was committed; he pressed the t-shirt over his mouth and made his way upward.

His eyes watered and he tried to stay low, but the smoke was everywhere. Trying not to breathe, he cast about for the source of the cries. They were louder now, but it was almost impossible to pinpoint the source against the noise and chaos of the fire. George knew he did not have much time. He took a chance and headed in the direction his own children’s bedroom would be and was rewarded with a door decorated with crayon pictures and colourful letters spelling out ‘Sasha’ and ‘Alexis’. The door was already slightly ajar.

The room was an inferno. Walls of smoke and flame blocked his way, but the cries of the girls came from within the conflagration; loud, clear and obviously terrified. George was driven back into the hallway by the sheer heat; there was no way he could get into the room.

He took a slow careful breath through his wadded T-shirt and called out.

Sasha…Alexis…can you hear me? he coughed and covered his mouth with the shirt again as the heat drove him back another pace towards the stairs.

The crying stopped. George could hear the young voices but could not make out words. His eyes watered, and his body was wracked with coughing from the smoke he had inhaled. For a moment he could hear nothing but his own hacking. He knew he had to get out soon or he would be overcome.

Something pulled at the leg of his pyjamas, and he looked down. Through tearing eyes, he saw two naked toddlers looking back up at him. They seemed totally unharmed, though clearly in a state of sheer terror. George was still clutching the phone like a baton. He had no idea if the operator was still on the line, but he coughed into the receiver, I’ve found the kids and I’m heading out.

He dropped the phone, took one more breath through the wadded T-shirt before dropping it to pick up the twins. He recoiled as soon as he touched them; they were both painfully hot. He had no time to waste, the flames continued to devour everything around and it would not be long before the floor or the ceiling collapsed. Even as the thought crossed his mind, there was a crash from the main bedroom, and a billow of embers, smoke and flame erupted.

Heedless of the pain, George grabbed the twins and ran for the stairs. He was not fast enough to escape the searing cloud, and he felt the flames and embers charring his back as he reached the stairs. The pain was excruciating, and he imagined his flesh blistering and burning. Now though, his only concern was for the children he held; they too would have been seared by the blast. He needed to get them out. He half ran and half fell down the stairs. Mercifully, the fire had not spread to the entry hall, though it raged in the living room. With the twins clutched tight, George burst through the doorway and into the cool night air. Strength failing, he collapsed to his knees on the front lawn and dropped the girls gently to the grass. Wracking coughs seized him.

A cool wet sheet was dropped over his shoulders and back. He saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles pulling up. One of his neighbours was saying something to him that he could not understand. He coughed fitfully again, his throat and lungs felt as though they had been scraped by a cheese-grater.

He looked at the girls, steeling himself to the sight he expected to see, seared flesh and charred skin. Tendrils of smoke and heat rose from the naked twins, but they seemed completely unharmed by the flames. Their thick red hair was not so much as singed. George stared in amazement. His palms and forearms were blistered and raw where he had carried the twins but there were no signs of burns or charring. He ran a hand over his head and found only bare skin and ash where his hair had been, but his scalp seemed unharmed.

The paramedics began to minister to his injuries. He relaxed and let them do their work; George had seen a few burn victims in his life and knew how serious it could be. He was glad the girls appeared to be all right, but at the same time, he knew their parents must be dead. One of the paramedics asked him something. He struggled to hear, shook himself to clear his head, and tried to focus.

What? he replied to the paramedic.

I asked if you were allergic to anything.

George shook his head, No, and coughed again.

Can you tell us what happened in there? We need to know if there is any possibility of internal injuries.

George was dumbfounded. Couldn’t they see his burns? He knew for a fact his back must be a mass of charred skin and seared flesh. Through the oxygen mask the second paramedic had placed over his mouth and punctuated by coughing, he told them about his ordeal. When he finished, the paramedic examined his blistered arms and applied a cool ointment before wrapping them in light bandages.

Well, I’d say you are pretty lucky, he said as he filled out a form. We’ll take you in for observation, and treat you for smoke inhalation, but aside from the blistering on your arms and hands; it doesn’t look like you sustained any burns at all. Your hair should even grow back on its own.

George was dumbfounded. What about the girls? he asked around the breathing mask.

The paramedic looked over towards the other ambulance where the twins were being treated. From what I saw they got out of it even better than you. There was literally not mark on them. We’ll take them to hospital for observation. After that, he sighed, well the parents were not so lucky.

The paramedic gestured with his pen towards the front door of the house. The fire was under control now, though damp smoke still billowed into the sky. A gurney containing a black body bag was being wheeled out the door and a second was already being loaded into a van that looked like an ambulance but had ‘Western Sydney Coroner’ emblazoned on the door.

What will happen to the kids? asked George.

The paramedic shrugged. The city will try to find a relative to take care of them, but if no one comes forward then they might get adopted or put in foster care. Don’t worry, he said turning back to his paperwork, I’m sure there’s a relative out there to take care of them. Now, is there anyone you need us to contact before we leave.

Leave? George was confused.

Remember, you have to spend the night at Liverpool Hospital for observation.

Oh, yeah, sorry, said George, I guess I was a million miles away. My wife is out of town with the kids. No need to wake them, I’ll call them from the hospital.

Fine with me, grinned the paramedic as he ticked a box on the form in front of him. Less paperwork.

A hundred meters down the street, away from the confusion and chaos of emergency workers and curious neighbours, a man dressed in a well-tailored dark suit sat in a parked van. Despite the late hour, he wore dark sunglasses. He sat rigid and upright and had not actually moved in over two hours. Then for no apparent reason, he started the engine. A few seconds later, the passenger side door opened and a figure in a skin-tight dark outfit climbed silently into the seat beside him. Without a word, the man in the sunglasses pulled the van smoothly into the street, leaving the pandemonium of the fire behind.

The person in the passenger seat pulled the tight cowl and visor from their head to reveal close-cropped dark chestnut coloured hair. Her face, normally serene, was screwed into a scowl of rage and disgust.

A pox on curious neighbours and heroic behaviour. She cursed as she threw the visor into the footwell. The driver gave no comment or indication he had heard her. He continued to drive, looking neither left nor right.

The woman reached for the car phone on the console and punched in a number. While she waited, she withdrew a cigarette packet and lighter from the glove compartment. She looked at the nearly empty pack and withdrew the last lone cigarette. She lit it and inhaled deeply. She blew the smoke straight into the face of the impassive driver. He gave no indication that this bothered him, but she still smiled with wicked satisfaction as she spoke into the phone.

Report said a dispassionate voice from the phone.

This is Silence. The operation went as planned. The parents are dead, but there was a problem. A neighbour called emergency services and they arrived before the Countess’s paramedics got there. The brats were taken to Liverpool Hospital instead of her facility.

There was an uncomfortable pause at the other end. Silence took another drag of her cigarette and repeated the spiteful act of blowing smoke at the driver.

Correct your error. Retrieve the children by whatever means necessary.

The connection was terminated.

Without any comment, the driver turned the van towards Liverpool Hospital. The woman replaced the handset in the cradle and considered her next move.

A few minutes later, the van pulled up in Liverpool Hospital carpark. The driver positioned the van so they could see the arrivals at the ER entrance. Silence took a last drag of the cigarette and flicked the smouldering butt at the driver’s ear. It struck with a tiny explosion of tobacco embers. The driver did not even flinch and without even glancing down, picked up the smouldering butt from where it had fallen and placed it in the ashtray.

Silence gave an exasperated grunt and donned her hood and visor. She regarded the brightening sky and sighed; daylight would make this harder. She made some adjustments to controls at her wrist cuff and the fabric shifted colour, growing lighter and blending with the surrounds. Silence glanced at the clock on the van’s dashboard; it was just after 5:30 am; if the paramedics didn’t appear soon, she would have to keep adjusting the suit’s camouflage.

Just then, the ambulances from the scene arrived. As the paramedics transferred the patients into the care of the interns and nurses, Silence slipped from the van, her strange costume rendering her all but invisible. She crossed the carpark, followed the gurneys through the doors into the building and shadowed them onto the ward. She made it to a nurse’s station without anyone noticing her.

Silence found a small room off the back of the nurse’s station where files on current patients were stored, and a pot of coffee was kept warming. It was also where the nurses kept their replacement scrubs. She quickly pulled a set over her outfit and though she was not comfortable being unmasked on a job, she slipped off the cowl and visor.

She picked up a clipboard from the nurse’s station and crossed the ward. No one stopped her as she slipped through the curtains screening the girls. They were sleeping, and she carefully placed them in the same gurney and raised the sides. She was almost done when the curtain was flung aside.

Excuse me, what are you doing, demanded the attending nurse. Who are you?.

Bring the car around now, Silence said.

Pardon me? The nurse looked confused.

Silence palmed a handful of small pellets from her belt. She threw one straight at the nurse. The pellet shattered and exploded in a cloud of dense grey-green gas, and he collapsed in a spasm of choking and coughing. Silence tossed another couple of pellets around the ward and soon the entire room was retching and coughing in the noxious smoke.

She pulled her visor and mask back over her head to filter the gas and allow her to see through the cloying vapour. She turned back to the twins. They were both still sleeping normally but to make sure they stayed that way she took another capsule from her belt and broke it under their noses. Silence pulled the sheet up over their heads to protect them from the gas and wheeled the gurney to the entry. She passed a fire alarm button and casually smashed the glass to activate it. Immediately claxons rang out through the hospital, further increasing the confusion.

More people were gathered at the exit, but Silence cleared a path by scattering a few more of the noxious pellets. She emerged into the dawn light just as the black van screeched to a halt. She pulled open the back and hefted the unconscious twins from the gurney and dumped them unceremoniously into the carpeted interior, climbed in after them and closed the doors.

As soon as the doors slammed shut, the van roared off. Silence held onto the twins so that they weren’t thrown around too much by the lurching of the speeding van.

God, I need a cigarette, she muttered as the van swung around a bend and sped away from the hospital.

…seven years later.

Sasha sat cross-legged on a patch of dusty ground she had cleared of rocks and stones. A large hardcover book was balanced across her lap, and she idly flipped another page. She wore a utilitarian jumpsuit that was only a few shades lighter than the colour of the rocky desert around her. A shriek of delight caused her to raise her head and look up. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun that baked the terrain and tried to focus on the source of the noise.

As she studied the landscape she raised and lazily waved her other hand above her head. As she did so, smoke poured from her open palm like a gout from an industrial chimney, but instead of rising into the atmosphere and dissipating, it gathered and roiled above her creating a stationary cloud shading her from the sun’s harsh brilliance.

A clash of heavy plastic plates and the whirr of servomotors behind reminded her she had to keep the size of her cloud small. She lowered her hand and the stream of smoke turned to a blue-grey curl and vanished, but the cloud overhead stayed in place. She half turned and gave an apologetic nod to the armoured figure looming a few meters behind her in the lee of the concrete entry to the bunker where they lived.

Another laughing cry turned her attention back to her sister Alexis. She was using this time away from their lessons and out of the bunker to stir up some of the huge, mounded ant nests that dotted the desolate landscape. She would let the ants swarm over her, then flaring with a burst of flame, incinerate the insects. Sasha thought the pastime pointless and cruel, but that was probably more because she did not have her sister’s resilience and when she had tried, the ants had bitten her mercilessly, putting her in the infirmary for a week.

Another noise made Sasha turn back towards the bunker. A man clad in green surgical scrubs and wearing a face mask had emerged and was speaking to their armoured guardian in whispers. There was always an armoured figure watching them. They only knew it as Protector Seven and it had been there as long as she could remember. She was not sure it was always the same person in the armour, she had never seen their face, but the red plastic armour was always the same; unadorned aside from a stylised C and the number seven. It was plain and functional, and it was equipped with cold generating weapons and fire suppression foam. In other words, ideally suited to counter her or her sister’s pyrokinetic abilities.

They had been at the bunker as long as she could remember and during that time there had been a seemingly endless stream of researchers, radiologists and medicos all dressed like the man now speaking with Protector Seven. Some had been there to teach; educate them and train them in the use of their powers, but others had been there to study them. They had been subjected to countless tests, procedures, and examinations; they had been poked and prodded mercilessly and subjected to stresses that stretched their powers and resilience.

A series of three flat electronic tones came from Protector Seven. He (or she) never spoke, but the sisters knew what the three tones meant. Sasha picked up her book, stood and walked toward the entry. Alexis joined her, racing to her side before Sasha had covered the few meters to the doorway. They knew the price of disobedience. The masked man led the way inside and Protector Seven, as always, followed behind the girls. The man led them down into the underground structure and brought them to their usual classroom. A woman they did not know sat at the teacher’s desk idly leafing through one of their textbooks. Unlike everyone else they had seen over the past seven years; she did not wear a mask. The man backed off and left the room closing the door behind him, the woman looked up from the book and smiled at the twins. There was no warmth or sincerity in the arrangement of her features.

She stood and walked toward the girls. She was tall and they had to turn their heads upwards as she approached. She was dressed in an elegant gown and looked as though she had just come from a ball. Sasha thought she was pretty but wore too much make up, especially around her eyes and her face looked tired and worn. An odd hat that did not look like it would be any good for keeping off the sun or rain sat atop her perfectly styled hair, and she wore a lot of jewellery.

She smiled at the girls again; a smile that did not reach her eyes. I am pleased to finally meet you Sasha and Alexis; I am Countess Riva Creath.

The woman leaned towards them, looking them over, not with any matronly or even medical concern, but as if they were pieces of meat on display in a butcher’s shop. Alexis and Sasha exchanged apprehensive glances, and by unspoken agreement decided they did not like her or trust the way she looked at them. They were used to their teachers and tutors being strange and masked. The ever-present Protector, the researchers and medicos were always armed, and they knew disobedience carried harsh penalties. Despite this conditioning, Countess Riva Creath, made them very uneasy.

I have been following your progress and training with some interest girls, and I believe you are ready, she said, still eyeing the two children like they were rabbits, and she was the fox, and I think it is time we put your abilities to the test. I have a little outing planned for you, something I am sure you especially will enjoy Alexis.

Sasha glanced over at Alexis, but she did not return her sister’s look. Her sister seemed enthralled by Riva’s words, anticipating the prospect of unleashing her abilities. Sasha thought of the ant nests and although she understood her sister’s feelings, she was apprehensive.

Tomorrow morning you will travel to Sydney…

Even Sasha’s doubtful heart leapt. The prospect of getting away from their isolation and seeing a real city was thrilling.

Countess Riva continued, I have some business I must conduct there, and I am sure your unique talents will prove to be… she paused, and her full red lips parted in a predatory grin revealing startlingly white teeth, …highly distracting.

The trip from the desert bunker was long, boring, and noisy. There were two helicopters; the first looked like an airborne limousine and aside from a pilot, carried only Riva. The second, where Sasha, Alexis and Protector Seven rode was plain, functional, and loud. Even the headphones they were told to wear did little to deaden the din as the blades of the helicopter beat the air and they rose above the desert in a cloud of red-grey dust. They looked down through the gathering dusk as the place they had grown up dwindled and disappeared in the endless desert. They did not feel sad and the knew they would not miss the horrible place, they just hoped they would never see it again.

They tried to sleep during the flight, but the noise kept pummelling them back to wakefulness. There was nothing but darkness to see through the thick Perspex and conversation was impossible. It was a long and boring journey through the night, but finally they landed, and the long ride was over. They climbed out, with shaking legs and ringing ears but it all evaporated when they caught sight of the gleaming spires and towers of Sydney just a few miles away. They stood and stared at the cityscape as the sun, somehow brighter and fuller of hope and life than ever before, slowly rose behind the magnificent skyline. They held hands and stood spellbound.

Sydney had always fascinated them. They had read about how the city accepted people with extraordinary abilities. Where most other cities and countries discouraged, banned, persecuted or in extreme cases exterminated people with superhuman abilities, Sydney welcomed them with open arms. That was on the condition they register their powers and extraordinary abilities with the central authority. This was the Superpowers Registration Act or the ‘SRA’ as it was referred to on the news. Once registered, people could use their powers as they saw fit, though if they used them to break the law, they would be criminals regardless of registration. The penalties for non-compliance with the SRA were severe and the penalties for committing crimes using powers even more so. The city had the resources to protect its citizens from those that chose to use their powers for evil. The city allowed groups of like-minded superpowered people to register as teams, but they also had their own skilled and powered enforcers on the city payroll. Then there was the ultimate deterrent, the Block. The Block was an inescapable super-prison designed and built exclusively for the containment of super-powered criminals. No one knew exactly what went on behind its dark and foreboding walls, but the stories that filtered out into the world, if they were to be believed, were terrible.

Abruptly they were brought back to the present by a gentle nudge from their Protector. A large black town car with darkened windows was parked nearby and a chauffeur in a crisp uniform with the familiar ‘C’ logo on the breast pocket was holding the door open for Countess Riva to climb inside. Two other Protectors waited nearby, their armour more streamlined and was green instead of red. The new Protectors led them to the car leaving Protector Seven behind. Sasha glanced back and saw Protector Seven, watching them leave, shoulders slumped and helmeted head downcast. The armoured figure she had known as long as she could remember subtly raised one hand and gave her a sad wave. Before she could respond, the green Protector at her side pushed her roughly into the vehicle and climbing in behind her blocking their old Protector from view.

The interior of the car was spacious and well-appointed although they sat squished between the two armoured Protectors while The Countess sprawled on her own on the seat opposite. That seat was so plushily upholstered it more resembled a couch than a car seat. She smiled coldly at the twins and sipped champagne.

You will be staying in one of my apartments. It is near the Creath factories and so my Protectors will not attract any undue attention. Tomorrow morning, they will take you on a little outing. Remember your training, this is your chance to prove to me the money I spent on you has been a worthwhile investment.

The girls tried to listen, but they were entranced by the glimpses of the city through the windows and the skylight. Towering skyscrapers standing stark against the pale blue of the morning sky. Buildings old and new, thousands, no, millions of people rushing around, cars, trucks, trains. It was all so exciting.

Though they had never been here before, in their hearts, they knew they were home.

Out on the balcony of Countess Riva’s luxurious apartment, Sasha and Alexis took in the night-time splendour of the city. They identified many of the city’s famous landmarks like the glittering steel and glass spire of Centrepoint, the elegant curves of the Opera House gleaming white against the dark waters of the harbour, and to the west, the sombre and imposing bulk of the superpower prison known as the Block.

What they were really looking for though was hero sighting.

Alexis gasped, grabbed Sasha’s arm and excitedly pointed towards Central Station a few blocks away. There was a figure standing on the domed roof of the clocktower. At this distance, they could just make out the billowing cape as it caught the breeze and reflected the lights from the street below. Abruptly the figure leapt into the air, a pale contrail carved a line across the night sky as it flew.

The figure flew roughly in their direction and as it approached it resolved into a slim woman clad in a skin-tight black and purple costume. They got a good look at the heroine as she soared overhead, and although they did not recognize her, they stood in open-mouth awe as she passed.

Sasha started to wave but was suddenly thrown to the floor, the full bulk of the armoured Protector slamming the breath from her and crushing her to the floor. A crash to her side indicated Alexis had been treated similarly. Struggling for breath, the twins could do nothing and see nothing until finally the Protectors moved off them and stood up. The hero, whoever she was, had passed by. The Protectors seized the girls and pulled them roughly back into the apartment, closing and locking the door to the balcony, and drawing the curtains across. It was obviously time for bed, and there would be no argument. They lay in bed too excited to sleep talking about what they had seen, speculating about the hero, and dreaming about the costumes they would wear when they were heroes.

They were so excited by their near encounter with a real superhero they never even gave a thought as to what Countess Riva wanted them to do the next day.

The glare from the blaze and the flashing lights of emergency vehicles were nearly overwhelming in intensity. The roar of the inferno engulfing the factory, the din of pumps, motors, and water rushing from hoses nearly drowned out the shouts of people giving orders.

Amidst the chaos, Sasha and Alexis sat huddled under blankets. Their clothes dishevelled, torn and blackened by soot; their fiery red hair, normally vibrant and full-bodied hung limply, smeared with ash, grease and grime. They stared glassy eyed at the chaotic scene as police and emergency workers struggled to contain the destruction around them.

What just happened? Alexis whispered to her sister.

I have no idea. The last thing I remember was… Sasha faltered, struggling to recall the events of the past few minutes?…hours?...days?

Well, whatever it was, we seem to have been on the wrong side of it. Alexis motioned with her chin towards a cluster of people. A man in a police uniform was in animated discussion with a tall, costumed, muscular woman. They recognised her as the hero they had spotted that night on the balcony. She remained silent and stoic as the man became louder and more agitated. Occasionally he would gesture towards the girls and one or more of those gathered would glance their way and make a note on a clipboard or tablet.

Why is Cutting Chic here? Sasha asked her sister.

Who is Cutting Chic?

That’s the name of the hero over there. I recognise her from the newspaper.

Alexis lifted the blanket and examined the slashed rents in her clothes. I guess she was the one who stopped whoever it was that caused all of this damage. I can’t remember a thing, but from the looks of it, I reckon that was us.

How though? I don’t remember doing this. How could we just forget about blowing up an entire factory?

I don’t know. What is the last thing you remember?

Sasha screwed up her face with the effort of recollection. I think we went to see that lady, Countess Riva. Then there is just lights and noises, fire, and smoke. I felt pain. She pressed her fingers to her shoulder and flinched. Her fingers came away sticky with dark congealed blood. I think someone stabbed me.

The girls looked at Cutting Chic. The argument seemed to have reached some sort of resolution and the knot of people broke up. Cutting Chic and the man in uniform turned away, the man shouting orders at other people working to control the blaze, while Cutting Chic launched herself into the sky and disappeared into the darkness and smoke.

Two other men dressed similarly in plain conservative suits approached the girls with condescending smiles plastered on their faces. They sat on the curb on either side of them and began to talk. They talked for a while, using terms like ‘commutation of sentencing’ and ‘probation’ and ‘protective custody’ and ‘foster care’ and ‘wards of the city’. They were all terms the girls knew but did not understand how they related to them and why these men using them as if they mattered.

Eventually the men stopped talking, stood up and helped Alexis and Sasha to stand as well. They brought them to some medical people who examined them. Sasha’s wounded shoulder was cleaned, stitched and bandaged. A lot of paperwork was done, signed and exchanged. Then they were bundled into a car with the two men and driven away from the scene of chaotic destruction and towards their uncertain future.

…nine years later.

A beam of sunlight stabbing through the shabby curtains woke Sasha. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the peeling paint of the ceiling and stretched, working the kinks caused by the lumpy old mattress out of her back. She heard her sister stir in the bed next to hers. Neither of them could oversleep if the other were awake, and they almost always went to sleep at the same time. It was occasionally annoying, but for now, she took comfort in the special bond they shared.

Alexis was not yet fully awake, and Sasha took this rare alone time to reflect. It had been nearly nine years since the day they had become orphans in fact as well as name. Nine years since two lost little girls had been rescued from the burning factory. The authorities had tried to find the girls’ parents, but with only the first names of Sasha and Alexis to go on it was difficult. It wasn’t until nearly a year later someone had connected them to a fire in the suburbs and the disappearance of two infants from Liverpool Hospital during a terrorist attack. There were no other living relatives and so they had officially become orphans, and wards of the city.

It was back then they decided to keep their powers a secret.

Over the years, Sasha and Alexis had been passed from one foster family to another, never staying anywhere long. Sasha understood it was hard to be a foster parent, looking after other people’s stray or unwanted children, but it must literally be more than twice as hard to look after twins, especially twins like them.

Early on they had found out how special they were; not just their powers, but the education they had received from Countess Riva. At the age of nine, they were well ahead of others the same age. They had a university level education though they were not any smarter than the other children, they had just been taught differently. Like their powers, they agreed to conceal their advanced education.

Despite this advantage, school had been difficult. They knew the material and so they were usually bored in class. As a result, the teachers thought them inattentive and lazy. Most of the foster families who took them in lived in the poorer areas of Sydney like Fairfield, Redfern and Bankstown. The schools in those areas were also the ones where the children of the gang members went, and many of those children were not nice. Where the teachers saw the sisters as disruptive, the other tough kids saw them as potential friends, cronies, allies or at worst rivals.

Given their intentionally amoral upbringing, it would not have been surprising if they had become the sort of lazy, violent or bullying thugs many of their teachers assumed they were. But they didn’t. Though they had only stayed with them a couple of years, the first family they had been placed with had taught them something Riva’s advanced education had not; they had taught them about caring, respect and love.

Sasha looked around the room again as Alexis stretched and slowly woke. Peeling paint on the ceiling. Tattered curtains that did little to stop the cold air blowing in through the cardboard patched broken pane. Sheets and blankets that were second-hand or worse, threadbare mattress that Sasha was sure harboured more tiny lifeforms than would strictly speaking be good for them, if they had not able to sanitise them by radiating non-combusting levels of heat, and she did not really like to think how many other people before had owned the clothes they wore.

Like most of the foster families, these were simple people. Generous in their own way, they owned nearly nothing of value but would share it without a second thought with those in greater need. It made Sasha proud she had known people like this, but it also made her angry that so many other people who had more did not share it.

By far the hardest thing they had to face while growing up though was suppressing their powers. Nearly every day there had been some new temptation to release the fires burning within them; to sear through the self-imposed shackles binding them to a normal life. They had been tempted, and several times, when being faced down by gangbanger offspring in the schoolyard or being beaten by a foster parent whose philosophy was spare the rod and spoil the child, they had been hard-pressed not to deal with the threat through incineration.

But they had resisted temptation and today was the day it all paid off. Today they turned eighteen (Alexis first, because according to the records, she was three minutes older), and were no longer wards of the city. Technically from today they would be masters of their own destiny.

CHAPTER 1

Sasha strolled through the pre-dawn city from Central Station on her way to see Alexis. She knew a taxi would be quicker, but she was not in any hurry, and she wanted the exercise. It was a decent walk, but the sun wasn’t up yet, and Alexis would still be working for a while. If she took a few of the shortcuts she knew, she should get there just about the time Alexis knocked off for the night.

She was looking forward to seeing Alexis. It seemed to Sasha that she hardly ever saw her sister these days. After eighteen years of being together nearly every moment of every day, the last few years where they had only seen each other a few times a week felt like being isolated and exiled. People talked about twins, especially identical ones, having some special bond, but Sasha was not convinced that was true. She had never claimed a psychic connection with her sister, just the connection through long and close familiarity.

In the last three years though, they had been living separate lives for the first time. Sasha won a scholarship to attend university and Alexis landed a well-paying job as night manager at a prestigious hotel. Sasha’s scholarship had included room and board on campus and Alexis’s job came with a small but comfortable apartment in the hotel. Although the campus was only in North Ryde and the hotel Alexis worked in was in Darlinghurst, it felt like they were in different cities. Adding to this, the disconnect of living on different schedules; Alexis working at nights and Sasha studying during the day, it meant meeting up took planning.

Soon though, that would all be a thing of the past. Sasha was about to graduate with a degree in Commerce and although she had been invited to do post-graduate work, she was not yet sure she would follow that through. Regardless, her scholarship was over, and she had to find her own place to live. She was hoping Alexis would not be averse to sharing her apartment in the hotel; it was small, but still larger than anything they had lived in growing up together and a lot more spacious than campus accommodation.

As she walked, taking short-cuts automatically through some of the back streets and alleys, Sasha thought about their plans for the next couple of weeks. Alexis had arranged for a leave of absence, and they were going to travel west out past Broken Hill and attempt to locate the bunker where they had been raised. There were a huge number of unanswered questions starting with the deaths of their parents all the way to why they were abandoned after the night at the factory. They hoped the bunker, if it still existed and they could even find it, might hold some of those answers.

Over the years they had pieced together what fragments they could remember about their lives growing up. The terrain of the surrounding country, what they had seen from the helicopter, how long the trip had taken and the direction they approached Sydney from. They had poured over maps and taken occasional short trips out to try and find the sort of country that matched what they remembered. There were still a lot of uncertainties, but Sasha was confident the area around the New South Wales and South Australian borders between Fowler’s Gap and Lake Frome was where they should direct their search. It was still tens of thousands of square kilometres of harsh, hot, dry and inhospitable area but she was feeling good about their prospects. Even more, she was looking forward to gaining some answers about their past.

She was so preoccupied with her thoughts she failed to notice in the pre-dawn gloom that the alleyway she had just entered was even dingier than was usual in this part of town. It was not until she was bathed in a sickly green light that she realised she was not alone.

In front of her stood a tall man in dark robes. He wore a bizarre headdress that reminded Sasha of a papal mitre. In the pale green light emanating from a wicked wavy-bladed dagger he held threateningly towards her, she saw the robe and hat were adorned with mystical symbols that made her skin crawl just looking at them. The stranger’s face was contorted in a manic rictus, his eyes wide and unblinking, reflecting the green glow from the dagger making them look as if they too glowed.

A noise from her left caused Sasha to check her surrounds. From the shadows at either side two other figures emerged. They were similarly robed, but instead of the odd headdress, they wore hoods so deep and dark their faces were almost completely shrouded in darkness. Their eyes too seemed to glow with a sickening green light.

Sasha had read about insane cultists lurking in some of the less reputable areas of the Redfern and Kings Cross. They were called The Shrouded and the newspapers claimed they practiced human sacrifice. No one seemed to know why. Was it some form of worship to an unknown dark god or part of some bloodthirsty magical enchantment? Right at this moment though, none of that mattered to her, all she saw was the knife and the cold glare of evil intent in the eyes of the man wielding it.

The hooded figures on either side of her lunged forward to grab her by the arms, but Sasha was not waiting around to be taken. She leapt backwards to avoid their grasp. She turned to run back out of the darkened alley and barrelled straight into the arms of a fourth person lurking directly behind her.

This man was huge, and he closed his meaty hands firmly around Sasha’s wrists before she could even react. With little apparent effort he forced her arms wide and lifted her in front of him, holding her aloft with arms spread, a clear target for the tall man with the wavy-bladed knife to gut her from behind. Helpless as she was, she looked directly into the face of the hooded figure, but even this close, all she could see in the shrouding darkness were the twin glows where the man’s eyes should be.

That was enough. For years she and Alexis had concealed their abilities, only using them to practice when they were alone with no chance of discovery but now Sasha needed to unleash. Though her arms were held, she clenched her fists, concentrated on gathering her power and opened her hands, pouring forth charred superheated air directly into the stygian hood in front of her. The giant man reeled backwards, releasing his grip and clutching at his face while he choked and coughed on the searing embers.

Sasha dropped and stumbled. She sensed the other two coming towards her from either side and tried desperately to regain her footing. She was too slow, and the pair fell on her. One restrained her left arm and forced it to the ground. He brought his knee down, pinning her. Sasha yelped in pain, and as the bones in her wrist ground together and her skin scraped the concrete. The other batted her flailing right arm away and tried to grasp her around the throat.

With two people assaulting her at the same time, Sasha could not focus enough to concentrate her powers. They had never had the opportunity to practise using any of their abilities in combat conditions, not since they were nine years old when they still lived in the bunker. Those lessons were long unused and forgotten.

As the hands of the second assailant closed about her windpipe, Sasha feared she was not going to see her sister again. How could she survive everything they had growing up, only to have it all end now in this random and meaningless way? Fingers dug into her neck, and she could no longer draw a breath. She still swung her free arm, striking at the attacker, but he seemed not to notice. Her blows weakened and it became difficult to focus. A figure loomed over her, not the hooded man, but the tall figure with the strange hat and the glowing green blade. Sasha’s vision, suffused with sickly green, was becoming hazy at the edges and she wondered if she would still be conscious when the blade was thrust into her. She hoped not.

The knife wielder knelt beside her, raised the blade high in a two-handed grip and chanted something Sasha could not comprehend above the noise of the blood thumping in her ears. As her vision faded, he finished, looked down at her and plunged the knife down towards her chest.

Suddenly she could breathe again. Sweet air flooded her tortured lungs and the darkness receded from her vision. Instead of the sickly green glow of the cultists, flickering orange flames obscured everything above her. Nausea overcame her as sensation returned and she rolled to the side, retching and coughing.

She turned towards a crash to one side and tried to focus on what was happening around her. There was a woman wreathed in flickering orange, white and blue flames holding one of the hooded cultists at bay with a shield made entirely of fire. The cultist hammered at the shield with a curved knife longer than his forearm, but the shield and the flames enveloping her slowed and stopped it before it landed. A second cultist lay unmoving a few meters away amidst a pile of rubbish and dented metal trash cans. The giant she had struck with her charred air attack earlier was nowhere to be seen.

She was just wondering what had happened to the cultist with the wavy-bladed knife when he burst from the shadows towards the unprotected back of the flaming woman. Sasha shrieked a warning, but too late. Just as the woman turned, the cultist struck, but this time the blade was not slowed. It seemed to carve a path through the protective flames, extinguishing them as if they were doused with water.

Time seemed to slow for Sasha as the scene unfolded. She recognised the other woman as her sister, Alexis. Sasha’s cry of warning had alerted her and in turning she had avoided the full trust of the knife, so instead of driving into her heart, the blade had sliced across Alexis’s arm slashing open her bicep. Blood fountained from the deep cut and the flames of the shield flickered and died. Alexis cried out in pain and Sasha in anguish.

The hooded cultist, seeing his opening pressed forward and again lunged at Alexis, but Sasha was quicker. No longer pressed on two sides, she was able to concentrate. She reached out with her power, found the warmth and energy of the cultist’s lifeforce and pulled it from him. The man was surrounded by an almost invisible pale blue aura that vanished as soon as it appeared. Instantly he was moving like he was struggling through treacle, his progress towards Alexis and the thrust of the knife slowed almost to nothing. Sasha knew the effect would not last long, but his momentum and gravity caused the man to overbalance and stumble into the alley wall.

Blood flowed freely from Alexis’s arm, but she ignored the wound and positioned herself to defend against the remaining cultist. Her protective flames reformed around her, guttered briefly, then flared as the assailant lunged with a backhanded slash at her face. The blade, not green and glowing like the one that had extinguished the fires before, slowed and stopped inches away. She clenched a fist wreathed in blue flames and swung at the attacker. She connected solidly and the man was hurled back into the hooded leader who was just regaining his feet.

The amount of blood pouring from Alexis worried Sasha, so she attempted another application of her abilities she had been developing. As before, she extended her awareness towards the inner energy of her target. She thought of as his warmth. Usually she took that warmth, pulled it out, and scattered it. This time though, instead of allowing it to dissipate, she directed it into Alexis.

The effect was astounding and exceeded her wildest expectations. Instead of the brief blue aura, there was a discharge of green light, not the sickly green of the cultist’s blade, but a healthy verdant shade. As with the aura, it was only fleeting, but the effect was profound. The wound on Alexis’s arm ceased to bleed, closed, and healed in seconds.

Alexis took a second to glance over her shoulder at her sister and mouthed ‘thank you’, then turned back to address the cultists. They were still dazed, struggling to untangle themselves. Sasha sent a stream of charred embers that blinded and disoriented them. Their bizarre robes smouldered and smoked where the glowing particles hit and they were further distracted as they attempted to douse the spot fires that sprang up.

Let’s get out of here. Alexis prompted, reaching for Sasha’s hand, and helping her to her feet.

Alexis doused her flames, and they ran from the alley. Once they were back on one of the main roads, they slowed, Alexis took some time to examine her wounded arm. The only indication she had been cut was the slowly congealing blood and the slash in her sleeve. Not even a scar could be seen where the cut had been.

That was something new. She remarked, gesturing towards her blood-splattered but unblemished arm.

I wasn’t sure it would work, but I’m glad it did. What are you doing here and how did you find me?

I got off work early and thought I would meet you halfway. Glad I did, I would hate to think what would have happened if I had been a second later.

Sasha shuddered at the memory and nodded agreement. I think we had better get you cleaned up and then find somewhere to talk. We have a lot of stuff to sort out.

Agreed, though you are going to need a change of clothes too. Alexis indicated the unidentifiable smears and stains on Sasha’s own clothes and hair. That alley was not exactly clean, and you were laying in it.

They made their way back to the hotel and Alexis’s small apartment. There they showered and changed. Sasha was especially glad to get the stench of the alley floor out of her hair. The twin’s flaming red hair was spectacular to see when properly washed, treated, and groomed, but it seemed to be a magnet for all sorts of dirt and grime if untended.

Alexis was seated at the tiny dining table and had coffee poured when Sasha finally emerged from the bathroom refreshed, dressed in clean clothes and hair bundled to dry in a towel.

Better? asked Alexis.

Much, although I can’t say I am a fan of a shower over the tub.

Not a hell of a lot of room for anything else, and its free. Well not free, part of my salary I guess.

Yeah, about that, Sasha said tentatively, what would you say to me moving in here with you. At least until I decide what to do next. You know, study or work?

Alexis glanced around the tiny apartment. The kitchen was just big enough for one person to work in and was separated from the living area by a narrow bench that only just qualified as a breakfast bar. The living area had enough room for two easy chairs, small fold out sofa bed, a coffee table and a wall mounted TV. The small round dining table had four chairs but two were stacked in a corner to leave room enough to get to the bedroom.

Sure, why not? I’ll be working nights and presumably you will have something to do during the day, so it shouldn’t be too crowded. Do you want to share the bed or sleep on the fold out?

The bed if that’s OK. Its big enough and as you say you won’t be using it at night anyway.

I have to admit, it will be great being close to each other again.

Sasha nodded agreement and reached out to hold her sister’s hand. They