Season 01 - Episode 25

‘a little brute’

Ny is standing by a door in a room that isn't his. He has seen and spoken to more people in the last two weeks than the last two decades and feels that much younger for it. He is waiting for the heavy footsteps outside to pass.

He holds his breath listens closely. EnFo's, he thinks, not cultists. Their boots are heavier and they don't chat as they go. The footsteps clomp their way towards silence but Ny waits a little longer to be sure. He absently pats himself, checking his carefully concealed tools then finally grips the door handle.

“That should be fine now,” he whispers to his nervous neighbour. They are standing behind him, wringing their hands and watching him. “If it goes again though, just come and give me a knock.”

“Ok,” whispers his neighbour. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” says Ny with a smile, then slips out into the corridor.

The long, grubby space is deserted. No-one comes out anymore for fear of meeting one group of vicious armed men or another. Or so Ny has always believed. For a place where nobody ever goes out, word of his illicit services has certainly spread quickly.

A couple of days after he fixed Es's tap, another knock came at his door followed by another the day after that. Each time he leaves his room he knows he is taking an enormous risk but he finds the thrill of it makes him want to do it more, not less.

The EnFo's would beat him, arrest him and imprison him. The cultists would only beat and rob him, but his tools are so precious that it would be basically the same.

As he approaches his own door he frowns at the broken lighting panel. It shrouds his part of the corridor in a sharp-edged patch of deeper gloom. He pauses at his door and looks back and forth.

The EnFo's patrol like clockwork and the cultists never come quietly. So far he has only committed his repair crimes within the safety of private rooms. He considers how much time he has and weighs the risk even though in truth, he has already decided.

Five minutes later, Ny is stood on his toolbox, out in the corridor, taking the last screw out of the panel. His heart is rattling in his brittle old chest but his hands are steady and nimble.

The screw screws loose and he drops it into his pocket, expecting the weight of the panel on his free hand. The panel doesn't move however. Just like everything else in The Fourth, the lighting panel is old and neglected. It is gunked up with greasy fudge and rust.

He doesn't have long now. He needs to get the panel off fast. So far he has worked in near silence but now a little brute force is required. He takes the butt of his screwdriver and bashes it against the panel casing.

The sound is surprisingly loud, ballooning out to fill the space and then bouncing off down the corridor. Ny cringes and waits, preparing to snatch up his things and dash back inside.

Nothing happens.

No-one comes.

He strikes the panel again and feels it shift in its frame. A couple more strikes and one corner hangs loose. Ny takes a moment to catch his breath then braces himself, ready to catch the panel when it drops.

He feels the years of loneliness, of frustration and despair, hanging from him like lead weights. He draws back his arm to strike the panel but also to strike away those weights. Ny slams the screwdriver against the panel and the whole thing drops out with an incredible crash that echoes around and away.

The sound doesn't fade however. Instead it seems to grow louder, building and building from far away and now bouncing back to come close. Ny steps down off the toolbox as the whole corridor begins to shake around him. Sounds of incredible destruction cry out from nearby.

What has he done?

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