Season 03 - Episode 17

‘back this isn’t’

Iz is sitting on a rickety metal platform which hangs over the plunging void between The Scapes. As she dangles her feet and swings her legs, she rests her hands and chin on the rusty guardrail and looks across the abyss.

The platforms and stairs opposite are thick with bodies, a seething mass with not a square inch of free space left, busier than she's ever seen. The throng moves and pulses as people push past one another endlessly. Her side is exactly the same and as she watches the far side, a steady stream of shins and shoes nudge her in the back.

This isn't The Scape Iz grew up on, that one was consumed by The Collapse. It's still her world however, the ceaseless sounds of people, the great open black above and below, the sour tasting rin falling from above.

She has nothing to do, nowhere to be, no need to scavenge or rob. Instead she is simply enjoying the feeling of freedom, letting the hours of the night slip by. Narrowing her eyes, she continues the game she has been playing.

At first glance, the crowd opposite appears almost a single living thing. Iz manages to focus on a single person within it however, a man with a limp. She watches him for a while, where he goes, what he does, how he reacts to the people pressed in around him.

Iz is trying to guess if he's native to The Scapes or an Inner refugee. After another minute or so of trying however she frowns and gives up. She can't tell. She used to be able to tell. She used to be able to tell at a glance.

Irritated by her failure, she looks away from the man and then away from the people generally, each of them presenting the same discomfort. She focuses instead on the wheezing metal structures holding them all up over the void and frowns, trying and failing to resist the insistent train of thought.

Iz spent her entire life on The Scapes until a few weeks ago, when they dragged her off into The Levels and held her there. Now she's back but it doesn't feel right, it feels like something has changed, like she's lost something.

She shifts uncomfortably as her back aches and her legs tingle. Sleeping on an actual bed has made her body soft, weakened her resistance to hardship. Having a food in her belly all the time has dulled her edge, stolen her drive.

They've turned her into an Inner.

Her fists clench themselves until her knuckles turn white. It's not fair. She had nothing and yet somehow they've taken that from her too. She looks to the people again and knows now that she can't tell if any of them are Inners.

This war that started while she was away has changed everything, blurring lines that were clear before. Hordes of Inners have fled out onto The Scapes but at the same time, with no EnFo patrols anymore, people from the Scapes have flooded into The Levels to beg.

It's as if everything she knew and understood has been swept away, leaving her adrift, a relic, out of time, out of place. Feeling heavy and flat, she watches blankly as two men over on the other side dump corpses from a pile over the edge one by one.

A sadness settles over her then so that she stands abruptly, trying to shake it off. Sadness is weakness and weakness is death. She draws up some anger, hot and powerful to keep the soul-sapping feeling at bay, then viciously shoves her way through the crowd.

Everyone is so busy and desperate that no-one notices as she elbows her way up a few floors and then over to a vent on the wall. She clambers in then crawls on through the tight tunnel behind the walls, teeth gritted furious all the way.

Finally, she wedges her shoulders up into a tiny vent. She pants and twists painfully before forcing herself through, then scrambles under and then up onto her bed. Minutes later the lights come on and an EnFo enters the room, carrying a small metal bowl of thick, cold soup. He opens the cell door and stoops a little to throw the bowl onto the floor.

“Enjoying your stay, scum?” he crackles. “It's the last place you're ever going to see.”

Iz says nothing but waits for the EnFo to leave and lock the door before retrieving the bowl. As he settles into his sentry position and she hunches over the bowl, she allows herself a sour little smile.

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