Chapter 1

I
Mec Ogive

The ice moon is high in the sky, its white light almost outshining the floodlights and camera flashes. At the front of the hotel - an ornate and gothic building half as old as the city itself - the protestors seem eerie and unreal in the mixture of natural and artificial light.

Mec Ogive walks with a cane, stooped and physically weak. But his eyes are bright; he holds his head high, even as the crowds around him bay for his blood and wave their hateful placards. Apian police officers cordon off the mob, tinted visors down low over their compound eyes, riot shields held high. Their black and yellow striped abdomens are raised in a stern but non-threatening pose.

A woman almost breaks through, riot shields rapidly squeezing her back into the crowd. "You dishonour your bones!" she screams.

If only she knew how ridiculous she sounded to him. He smiles at her, tries to show he genuinely holds no grudge, but he sees the way she glares back, taking his gesture as patronising or sarcastic. He sighs and follows the path around to the side of the building, where his car and driver wait.

This is where they stick him, down a dingy alley, safely tucked away, distanced from the hotel that housed the conference. Stagnant puddles splash beneath his patent leather shoes. A smell of rotting garbage wafts from the mildewed brick walls. He opens the limo door and slides into the backseat.

"Driver," he begins, and then stops, his mouth still open.

"Mec Ogive?" the stranger asks.

He nods.

There is a gunshot.