This is a work of serialized fiction. References to real artists, musicians, and historical figures are used imaginatively. All characters and events are fictional.
We are shifting to posting one episode per week. This means all five parts in a single post. Hopefully this will ease up your inbox load.
Season 1, Week 4: “The Signal in the Noise”
Part 1
The address led to a converted warehouse off Rye Lane.
Not abandoned—that would be too obvious. This place had a legitimate business on the ground floor. Vietnamese restaurant, closed for the night. Upstairs windows dark except for one flickering blue light.
“That’s gotta be it.” Marcus studied the building from across the street.
“Three exits visible,” Chu said. “Fire escape on the east side, main entrance, service door in the alley. If this goes wrong, we scatter.”
“It won’t go wrong.” Kira started toward the door.
Danny touched her arm. “CC’s sick. Terminal. They’re scared. We need to approach carefully.”
She stopped. “How do you know that?”
“Eliza told me. Before—” He couldn’t finish.
The service door was unlocked. Stairs led up, narrow and dark. Someone had spray-painted arrows on the walls, fluorescent pink. Fresh paint.
“They’re expecting us,” Sasha said.
At the top, a heavy door. No handle. Just a speaker grille.
Kira knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked again. “CC. My name is Kira Osei. I’m a book dealer. You sent me coordinates to Hackney Library. We found your archive.”
Silence.
“Eliza Wright just died. Mnemosyne extracted her memories.” Marcus stepped forward. “She was my aunt. And she told us to find you. So here we are, bruv. Open up.”
More silence. Then the speaker crackled.
A voice. Young, tired, synthesized through filters.
CC: You brought police.
“I’m off-book,” Chu said. “My partner’s dead. Mnemosyne killed him.”
CC: Prove it.
“How?”
CC: Take off your jacket. Show me your wrists.
Chu did. No watch, no tracker. Just a Joy Division tattoo on his left wrist. Unknown Pleasures wave pattern.
CC: Curtis fan?
“Been listening since I was sixteen.”
CC: Name three B-sides.
“’Transmission.’ ‘Novelty.’ ‘Komakino.’” Chu didn’t hesitate. “I own the box set.”
The door clicked. Opened.
Inside was pure hackspace aesthetic. Servers humming. Multiple monitors. Black trash bags covering the windows. Cables everywhere. And sitting at a desk surrounded by screens: a person in a gray hoodie, face hidden, breathing through oxygen.
CC.
They didn’t look up. Just kept typing.
CC [on screen subtitle]: Come in. Lock the door. Don’t touch anything.
“You subtitle yourself in person?” Sasha asked.
CC [screen]: Easier than talking. Lungs are shit.
Kira moved closer. Saw the screens. Live feeds from across London. Security cameras, traffic cams, private surveillance. All being monitored simultaneously.
CC [screen]: Been watching you all week. The bookshop. The library. The hospital.
“You saw what they did to Eliza?” Marcus’s voice tightened.
CC [screen]: I see everything. It’s how I stay alive.
They finally looked up. Pulled back the hood. Face gaunt, dark circles under eyes, hair buzzed short. Could have been twenty-five or forty. The illness aged them differently in different light.
CC [screen]: My mother was Miranda Vance. Street name Phantom. She painted the map. Then Helena killed her.
“Wait, what?” Danny asked, confused. “Mmy lola was Phantom…”
CC [screen]: Collective pseudonym. Like Luther Blisset or Wu Ming. Multiple artists doing the work under one name. That way if one got caught, the others could continue.
Kira sighed, “Bruv…”
“Gonna take a while for that to sink in,” Danny said flatly. Then asked: “Helena Vance your sister?”.
CC nodded.
CC [screen]: Half-sister. Same mother, different fathers. Helena got the neuroscientist. I got the anarchist.
CC [screen]: Helena wants what’s in my head. Not just hacker shit. The map. Mom’s complete documentation. Where all the evidence is hidden. She needs it gone before going fully public with Mnemosyne.
Kira sat down across from them. “So we protect you. Hide you better. Move you somewhere—”
CC laughed. Actual sound, raspy and bitter. Then coughed hard into their sleeve.
CC [screen]: I’m dying anyway. Six months if I’m lucky. Tumors in my lungs, liver, brain. Could be natural. Could be Helena’s work. Doesn’t matter now.
“Then what do you need?” Marcus asked.
CC looked at each of them. Then typed slowly.
CC [screen]: I need you to finish what my mother started. The map leads to something. Not just evidence. Something Phantom built with Gysin’s help. A device. A counter-frequency.
CC [screen]: Helena’s extraction tech works by entraining brain waves to a specific frequency. Makes memories accessible, extractable. Phantom built the opposite. A frequency that protects. Locks memories down. Makes them unreadable.
CC [screen]: She called it the Gutenberg Frequency. After the printing press. The thing that made knowledge impossible to fully control.
Kira felt something click. “The manuscripts. The cut-ups. They’re not just art.”
CC [screen]: They’re parts. Instructions. The device is distributed. Built into the culture. Into the walls. Into the books. Everywhere and nowhere.
CC [screen]: Helena knows this. She’s not just killing old artists. She’s eliminating the knowledge of how to reassemble it.
“But you know how,” Danny said.
CC [screen]: My mother taught me. And now I’m teaching you. Because I won’t live long enough to finish it.
The screens flickered. CC tensed.
CC [screen]: Shit. Someone’s running facial recognition on you. All of you.
“Police?” Chu asked.
CC [screen]: Worse. Private security firm. Mnemosyne contractors.
CC [screen]: They know you’re here. We have maybe ten minutes.
Marcus moved to the window. Looked through a gap in the trash bag. Three black SUVs pulling up outside.
“We need to go,” he said. “Now.”
“CC can’t run—” Danny started.
CC [screen]: Yes I can. I’m dying, not dead. Give me thirty seconds to pack.
They moved fast. CC grabbed two laptops, external drives, oxygen tank. Shoved everything into a backpack.
“Fire escape?” Sasha asked.
“They’ll have it covered by now.” Chu looked at the screens. “We need another way.”
CC pointed up.
CC [screen]: Roof. Then across to the next building. Then down through the laundromat. Old smugglers’ route.
“You’ve done this before,” Kira said.
CC [screen]: Four times. Never gets easier.
They heard footsteps on the stairs. Heavy boots. Professional.
“Go,” Chu said. He pulled his off-duty weapon. “I’ll slow them down.”
“Don’t be a hero, bruv,” Marcus said.
“Just buying time. I’m good at that.” Chu smiled. “Joy Division played their last show on May 2, 1980. I intend to outlive that date. Now move.”
They went up through a hatch to the roof. CC moved slowly, struggling with the oxygen tank. Danny helped them. Behind them, they heard Chu’s voice: “Metropolitan Police. You’re trespassing on an active investigation—”
Then gunfire.
“Shit!” Marcus pulled Kira toward the next roof. “That’s bare illegal. They’re not even hiding it anymore.”
They ran.
Part 2
Det. Chu caught up with them at the laundromat.
He was bleeding from a graze on his shoulder, shirt torn, but moving fast. “They weren’t police. Private contractors. No badges, no warrants, just guns.”
“You killed anyone?” Marcus asked.
“Returned fire. Don’t know if I hit anyone. Doesn’t matter—they’ll call it self-defense anyway.” He checked his weapon. Empty magazine. “We need to ditch this. And my phone. And anything else that’s trackable.”
CC pulled out a plastic bin from behind one of the dryers. Inside: burner phones, cash, fake IDs. Ready to go.
CC [on phone screen]: Welcome to my paranoia. I have six caches like this across Peckham.
They split the supplies. Kira took a phone and £500. Felt like a spy thriller except the gun wound was real and her partner’s aunt had just been murdered and this was all actually happening.
“Where now?” Sasha asked.
“I know a place,” Danny said. “My building. Top floor is empty. Landlord’s been fighting council for three years. No one goes up there.”
CC nodded.
CC [screen]: Peckham estate? Near the Rye?
“How did you—”
CC [screen]: I know all the empty flats in South London. Occupational necessity.
They moved through back streets, avoiding main roads. CC struggled, stopping every few minutes to breathe. The oxygen tank was small, portable, but running low.
“We need to get you medical care,” Danny said.
CC [screen]: No hospitals. Helena has people everywhere in NHS. That’s how she finds targets.
“River,” Marcus said. “They work hospice. Off the books. They can help.”
Kira looked at him. “River Song? Your partner works with them?”
Danny nodded. “River’s solid. Anarchist. Hates corporations. They’ll help.”
They made it to Danny’s building. Council estate, ten floors, typical South London tower block. Danny used his key, led them past the elevator—”Never use lifts when you’re running from someone, innit?”—and up eight flights of stairs.
The top floor smelled like damp and old carpets. Three flats, all supposedly empty. Danny opened the middle one with a key from the fire extinguisher cabinet.
“How’d you—” Kira started.
“Been here seven years. You learn things.” He held the door. “It’s not luxurious, but it’s off-grid.”
Inside was bare. No furniture, no curtains. Just walls and floor and the ghost of previous lives. But the electricity worked—Danny flipped a switch and fluorescent lights flickered on.
CC sat down heavily against the wall. Removed the oxygen mask.
“You should keep that on,” Danny said gently.
“Need to talk. Real voice.” CC’s actual voice was raspy, damaged. “Subtitles don’t convey urgency well.”
“Save your strength,” Chu said. “We’re safe for now.”
“No.” CC coughed. “Listen. The Gutenberg Frequency. You need to understand what it is.”
They gathered around.
“My mother was Gysin’s student. He taught her about frequency entrainment. How specific rhythms and pulses could affect consciousness.” CC paused to breathe. “The Dream Machine was one application. Memory extraction is another. Both use the brain’s natural frequency response against itself.”
“So how do you block it?” Kira asked.
“You don’t block. You interfere. Create noise in the signal.” CC smiled weakly. “Phantom realized—if you encode random pattern generators in art, in text, in music, you create cognitive static. Makes the brain unreadable to extraction technology.”
“Random patterns,” Sasha said. “Like Gysin’s cut-up technique.”
“Exactly. Cut-ups introduce randomness. Chaos. The brain trying to make sense of nonsense generates its own counter-frequency.” CC coughed again. “Phantom embedded this in her graffiti. Taught other artists. Created a whole network of protected minds.”
“But Helena’s been killing them,” Marcus said.
“Because the protection only works if you know how to maintain it. Without training, it fades. Takes about a generation.” CC looked at them. “Everyone who knew how to teach it is dead or dying. Including me.”
“Then teach us,” Kira said.
“That’s the plan. But it takes time. You can’t just memorize instructions. Your brain needs to learn the pattern. Needs to internalize the randomness.” CC struggled with the oxygen mask again. “Usually takes months. We have days.”
Danny knelt next to them. “Then we compress the timeline. Intensive training. What do you need?”
“The books. The real ones. Not reproductions. The originals carry the frequency somehow. Don’t ask me to explain the physics. Phantom said it was psychometry. Gysin called it bibliomancy. But it works.”
“I have three,” Kira said. “At the shop. If they haven’t been seized.”
“They have been,” Chu said. “Metropolitan Police raided your shop this morning. Health and safety violations apparently. Very convenient timing.”
“Fuck.” Kira paced. “Months of work. My collection—”
“Is insured, yeah?” Marcus touched her shoulder. “Books can be replaced.”
“Not these. These were—” She stopped. Closed her eyes. “You’re right. Not important right now.”
“There are others,” CC said. “Distributed. The archives I’ve been documenting. Locations across London. But we need to move fast. Helena will be tracking the pattern. She knows what we’re looking for.”
The room was quiet for a moment. Just breathing and the hum of fluorescent lights.
Then Sasha’s phone buzzed. She looked at it. “Dimitri says Mnemosyne is offering a reward. £100,000 for information leading to our location.”
“How much in rubles?” CC asked.
Sasha actually laughed. “You’re dying and you make jokes?”
“Humor’s how I cope with mortality.” CC put the oxygen mask back on. Typed on their phone.
CC [screen]: We should sleep. Tomorrow we start the training. And the race to find the remaining manuscripts before Helena does.
“I’ll take first watch,” Chu said.
“I’ll second,” Marcus added. “You’re injured, bruv. You need rest too.”
“The shoulder’s fine.”
“It’s bleeding through your shirt. Sit down.” Marcus was firm. “I got this.”
Danny called River, explained the situation in careful terms. River said they’d bring medical supplies and food. Arrive in an hour.
Kira sat next to CC. “Your mother. What was she like?”
CC took off the mask again. “Brilliant. Intense. Loved us in her way. But the work always came first.” They smiled sadly. “She knew she’d die young. Told me once: ‘Art that doesn’t resist is just decoration.’ She meant it. Died for it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She chose this. Made sure I could finish it.” CC looked at Kira directly. “You remind me of her. The way you talk about books. Like they’re alive.”
“They are, in a way.”
“Yeah. They are.” CC’s eyes closed. “That’s the frequency. That’s what we’re protecting. The life in the words.”
Within minutes, CC was asleep. Exhausted, ill, but somehow peaceful.
Marcus stood by the window, watching the street. Kira joined him.
“Your aunt would be proud,” she said quietly. “What you’re doing.”
“Nah. She’d say I’m being reckless. Getting caught up in academic bollocks.” He smiled. “But she’d be here anyway. That’s who she was.”
Kira leaned against him. Felt him tense, then relax.
“We’re gonna make it through this,” he said. “All of us.”
She wanted to believe him.
Part 3
River arrived at two AM with a backpack full of medical supplies and Thai takeout.
“Danny said you needed a medic and food.” They set everything down, assessed the group. “Who’s bleeding?”
Chu raised his hand.
River examined his shoulder. “Through and through. You’re lucky. Didn’t hit anything major.” They cleaned and bandaged it efficiently. “Keep it dry. Change the dressing twice a day. Don’t be a hero.”
“Too late for that,” Sasha said.
River moved to CC next. Checked their oxygen levels, pulse, pupils. “When’s your next chemo scheduled?”
CC [screen]: Supposed to be Monday. Obviously missed it.
“You need it. This is going to accelerate—”
CC [screen]: I know. Doesn’t matter. I have enough time.
River looked at Danny. Wordless communication. Then nodded. “Okay. But let me help manage pain at least.”
They distributed the food. No one had eaten in twelve hours. The Pad Thai tasted like heaven.
“So,” River said, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Danny filled me in. Evil corporation, memory extraction, dying hacker, mystical frequency protection. Two moms, one name? Did I miss anything?”
“That about covers it,” Kira said.
“Right. And I’m helping because?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do?” Danny offered.
“True. Also because fuck corporations generally and especially ones that harvest people’s consciousness for profit.” River looked at CC. “Phantom was your mum? The Phantom?”
CC nodded.
“I saw her work. Back when I was squatting in Vauxhall. There was this piece under the railway bridge. Twenty meters of layered tags. Council kept painting over it, she kept coming back. Eventually they just gave up.” River smiled. “That was resistance. Real resistance. Not academic. Not theoretical. Just—existing in space you weren’t supposed to exist in.”
CC [screen]: She’d like you.
“I’d have liked her.” River pulled out a tablet. “So. This frequency thing. How does it work practically?”
CC gestured for the tablet. Typed rapidly.
CC [screen]: Imagine your memories are a radio broadcast. Mnemosyne’s extraction tech tunes to your frequency, records the signal. The Gutenberg Frequency is noise. Static. Jam the signal so nothing clear gets through.
CC [screen]: But it has to be specific noise. Random but structured. Like John Cage’s 4’33” or Gysin’s cut-ups. Order within chaos.
“How do you install that in someone’s brain?” Sasha asked.
CC [screen]: You don’t install. You train. Teach the brain to generate its own interference pattern. Like learning a language or a musical instrument. Eventually it becomes automatic.
“How long did it take you?” Kira asked.
CC [screen]: Three years. But I started at six. Adult brain takes longer. More rigid.
“We don’t have three years,” Marcus said.
CC [screen]: I know. So we cheat. Use the manuscripts. They’re primed. Reading them in the right sequence with the right method can compress the training. Maybe down to a week.
“Maybe?”
CC [screen]: My mother never got to test that part. She died before completing the research.
The room went quiet.
“So we’re improvising,” Chu said.
CC [screen]: Basically yes.
“Marvelous.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic.
CC pulled up a map on the tablet. London, marked with dozens of red dots. “These are Phantom’s sites. Where she embedded pieces of the frequency map. Some are graffiti. Some are objects. Some are—complicated.”
Kira studied the map. Recognized locations. “This one’s near my shop. Byng Place.”
CC [screen]: That’s a manuscript. Private collection. Owned by a professor at UCL. Geraldine Tam. She has a first edition Naked Lunch with Burroughs’s annotations.
“The annotations are part of it?”
CC [screen]: The annotations ARE it. Burroughs working in real-time with Gysin’s cut-up method. Raw frequency data encoded in literary criticism.
“We need to convince a professor to let us examine her rare book,” Sasha said. “In the middle of being hunted. This seems difficult.”
“I know Tam,” Kira said. “Bought from her before. She’s eccentric but reasonable. If I explain—”
“You can’t show up in person,” Chu interrupted. “Your face is all over Mnemosyne’s internal network by now. They’ll be watching anyone connected to you.”
“Then we send someone else.”
They all looked at Danny.
“Why me?”
“You’re not on their radar yet,” Kira said. “You’re a caregiver. Not connected to the rare book scene. If you say you’re researching for a client—”
“I don’t know anything about rare books.”
“You know enough. And you’re naturally trustworthy. People tell you things.” Kira pulled out her phone. Started typing notes. “I’ll brief you. Give you authentication questions. Make you sound legitimate.”
Danny looked at River. They shrugged. “I’ll go with you. Backup. And I know some Burroughs. Squat scene was obsessed with Naked Lunch.”
“This is insane,” Danny said.
“Yeah,” River agreed. “But so is memory harvesting. At least this insane has purpose.”
CC started typing a list. Locations, manuscripts, contact information. Everything Phantom had documented.
CC [screen]: We need five manuscripts minimum. More is better. They work together. Cumulative effect.
CC [screen]: But Helena knows this too. She’s been tracking them for years. Some are already gone. Destroyed or locked away.
“So we’re racing her,” Marcus said.
CC [screen]: We’ve been racing her. We’re just moving faster now.
Kira took the list. Studied it. “Some of these I know. Some I’ve heard of. A few are completely new.”
“We should split up,” Sasha suggested. “Cover more ground.”
“No.” Marcus was firm. “We stay together. Safer that way.”
“We can’t all walk into a professor’s office—”
“Then we split into pairs. Maximum.” He looked at Kira. “And you stay here with CC. You’re too recognizable now.”
“I’m not hiding—”
“You’re strategizing,” Chu said. “Someone needs to coordinate. Track what we find. Make sense of it. That’s your job.”
Kira wanted to argue. But he was right.
“Fine. Danny and River take the Burroughs. Marcus and Sasha—” She looked at the map. “There’s a gallery in Hackney. Owner has a Genesis P-Orridge collage. That’s on the list.”
“I know that gallery,” Marcus said. “Owner’s sound. I can make it work.”
“That leaves me,” Chu said.
CC [screen]: You’re law enforcement. Even ex, that opens doors. There’s an evidence locker in New Scotland Yard. Property seized from a 1978 squat raid. Never processed. Just stored.
“You want me to break into police evidence?”
CC [screen]: I want you to access materials that were illegally seized from political activists. Also yes, break in.
Chu smiled. “Unknown Pleasures. My favorite album is about breaking social contracts. I can do this.”
They planned until sunrise. Routes, backup plans, dead drops, emergency protocols. CC typed it all out, organized, methodical.
As the sun came up, River opened a window. Fresh air. The sound of the estate waking. Someone’s radio playing grime. Kids shouting on their way to school.
“Normal life,” River said. “Still happening. We forget that sometimes when we’re inside the crisis.”
“The crisis is normal life for some of us,” CC typed. Then added: “But I get what you mean.”
Danny checked CC’s oxygen. Running low. “We need to get you more supplies.”
CC [screen]: Later. First, we get the manuscripts. Then we train. Then we worry about keeping me alive.
“That’s the wrong order,” Danny said.
CC [screen]: Maybe. But it’s the only order we have.
Marcus stood. “Right. We move in one hour. Get what we can and get back here before dark. Everyone clear?”
They nodded.
“Let’s do this then.” He looked at Kira. “Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
“I know. That’s how I know you will.”
They left in pairs. Danny and River first. Then Marcus and Sasha. Then Chu, alone, wearing his old Metropolitan Police jacket because sometimes authority was the best disguise.
Kira and CC remained. Two people in an empty flat, holding the center while everyone else scattered.
CC [screen]: You’re worried about him.
“I’m worried about all of you.”
CC [screen]: But him especially. Your partner.
“One of them.” Kira sat down. “It’s complicated.”
CC [screen]: Ethical non-monogamy usually is. For what it’s worth, mom was ENM. Four partners at various points. Made the work possible but the relationships hard.
“Did it last?”
CC [screen]: Some did. Some didn’t. But they all mattered. That’s the important part.
Kira looked at the map. Dots across London. Each one a piece of her mother’s legacy.
“We’re going to finish this,” she said. “For Eliza. For Phantom. For everyone they killed.”
CC didn’t type anything. Just nodded.
Outside, London moved. Indifferent and immense.
And somewhere in that city, Helena Vance was moving too.
Part 4
Marcus’s phone buzzed at exactly 3 PM.
Unknown number. He almost didn’t answer. But something made him.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Wright. This is Dr. Helena Vance. I believe you have something of mine.”
He froze. Looked at Sasha across the gallery floor. Mouthed: Helena.
Sasha’s face went pale.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marcus said.
“Of course you don’t. Let me clarify.” Her voice was smooth, clinical. “You’re currently harboring a fugitive with terminal cancer. That fugitive has stolen proprietary data from my company. I’d like it returned.”
“Still not following.”
“Mr. Wright, I’ve been watching you for some time. Gallery owner. Kira Osei’s partner. Eliza Wright’s nephew. You’re quite connected.”
His blood went cold. “You killed her.”
“I extracted research data from a willing participant in a clinical trial. What happened after was unfortunate but not actionable.”
“She didn’t agree to anything—”
“She signed consent forms in 2019. I have documentation. Her memory loss was pre-existing. We simply accelerated the inevitable.” Helena’s tone never changed. Still calm, still professional. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because I’m offering you a deal. Return CC. Return all materials they’ve taken. And I’ll ensure Kira’s legal troubles disappear. Her shop reopens. Your gallery continues to thrive. Everyone goes back to their normal lives.”
“Except CC.”
“CC is dying regardless. Six months. Maybe less. Why sacrifice everything for someone who won’t see next summer?”
Marcus looked at Sasha. She was recording the call.
“And if I say no?”
“Then I make one phone call and your gallery’s funding evaporates. Another call, and Sasha Volkov’s asylum status gets reviewed. Turns out there are questions about her application. Possible FSB connections.” Helena paused. “I have very thorough researchers, Mr. Wright.”
Sasha’s face was frozen.
“One more call,” Helena continued, “and Kira Osei faces charges for handling stolen property. Multiple felonies. Prison time. Her entire life destroyed. All I need is one phone call.”
“You’re threatening us.”
“I’m clarifying your options. This isn’t personal. It’s business. CC has data I need. You have CC. Simple exchange.”
Marcus’s grip on the phone tightened. “How do I know you won’t just take everything and destroy us anyway?”
“You don’t. But you know with certainty what happens if you refuse. One is a possibility. The other is a guarantee.”
He was quiet for a moment. Thinking. Processing.
“I need time.”
“You have two hours. I’ll send a location. Come alone. Bring CC. We make the exchange. Everyone leaves alive.” Helena’s voice softened, almost gentle. “I know you think I’m a monster, Mr. Wright. But I’m just a mother trying to bring back her daughter. I lost her three years ago. Car accident. Brain death. All her memories gone. This technology—it could have saved her. It still can, if I can perfect it. That’s what this is really about. Not money. Not power. Just a mother’s love.”
The line went dead.
Marcus looked at Sasha. “She knows everything. Where we are. What we’re doing. All of it.”
“We need to leave. Now.” Sasha was already moving toward the door.
“She’ll just find us again. She’s been tracking us the whole time.”
“Then what do we do?”
Marcus called Kira. Explained the situation.
“Don’t give her CC,” Kira said immediately. “It’s a trap.”
“I know. But bruv, she’s got leverage. Real leverage. She can destroy all of us.”
“She’s going to destroy us anyway if we give her what she wants.”
“Maybe. But what if she’s telling the truth? What if this is really about her daughter?”
Kira was quiet. Then: “It doesn’t matter. Even if she’s genuine about that, she’s killed forty-seven people. She’s not going to stop because we cooperate. She’ll take CC, extract everything, and eliminate all witnesses. Including us.”
Marcus knew she was right. But the threat hung there. Sasha deported. Kira imprisoned. His gallery gone.
Everything they’d built. Everything they had.
“There has to be another way,” he said.
“There is. We finish what CC started. Get the manuscripts. Learn the frequency. Protect ourselves so she can’t extract us even if she catches us.”
“That’s gonna take days we don’t have.”
“Then we buy time.”
“How?”
Kira was quiet for a moment. Then: “We give her me.”
“What?”
“Think about it. I’m the one she really wants. I have the books. I have the connections. I’m the dealer. Let me meet her. Buy you time to get CC somewhere safe.”
“Nah. No way. That’s bare suicidal—”
“It’s strategic. She won’t kill me immediately. She’ll want to interrogate me. Extract what I know. That gives you hours, maybe a day.”
“And then she kills you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe CC teaches you how to rescue me using the frequency knowledge. It’s a risk. But it’s the best option we have.”
Marcus looked at Sasha. She was shaking her head. No.
“I won’t let you do this,” he said.
“It’s not your decision.” Kira’s voice was firm. “I’m making it. Call Helena back. Tell her you’ll deliver me instead of CC. Set up the meet. And then you run. Get everyone to safety. Finish this.”
“Ki—”
“Marcus. Bruv. Listen.” Her voice softened. “I love you. I love Sasha. I love this life we’ve built. But some things are bigger than us. If we don’t stop Helena, how many more people die? How many more Elizas?”
He couldn’t argue. Didn’t want to accept it.
“I’ll talk to CC,” Kira said. “They’ll know the best way to do this. How to make it believable. How to give you maximum time.”
“This is wrong.”
“Everything about this is wrong. We’re just trying to make it less wrong.”
Marcus heard movement on her end. CC saying something.
“I have to go,” Kira said. “CC’s oxygen is getting low. Call Helena. Make the deal. I’ll see you when this is over.”
“You better.”
“I will. On my life.”
The call ended.
Sasha was crying quietly. “She’s going to die.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she’s the smartest person I know and she’s got a plan I can’t see yet.” Marcus pulled Sasha close. “We’re not giving up. Any of us. We’re just—adapting.”
He called Helena back.
“That was fast,” she answered.
“I’ve got a counter-offer. You want someone who knows the rare book trade? Who can authenticate everything? Who has connections CC doesn’t?”
“I’m listening.”
“Kira Osei. She’ll meet you. Exchange herself for our safety. CC stays free.”
Silence. Then: “Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s trying to protect people she loves. Same as you say you are.”
“Clever.” Helena sounded almost impressed. “But I need CC’s technical knowledge. Kira is insufficient.”
“Then you get nothing. Kira or nobody.”
More silence. Marcus could hear her thinking. Calculating.
“Fine. But if this is a trap—”
“It’s not. She comes alone. No weapons. No backup. You get your interrogation. We get time to disappear.”
“Where and when?”
“You pick. Send the location. She’ll be there.”
Helena gave him an address. Former medical facility in Southwark. Closed three years ago. Perfect for private business.
“Eight PM tonight. Alone. If I detect any surveillance, any police presence, the deal is off and everyone you love faces consequences.”
“Understood.”
The call ended.
Sasha looked at him. “Now what?”
“Now we tell everyone the plan. And hope to God Kira knows what she’s doing.”
Part 5
Kira arrived at the Southwark facility at 7:55 PM.
Five minutes early. Professional.
The building was brutalist concrete, windows dark, one entrance lit. She walked toward it. No hesitation. Just steady forward motion.
Inside, fluorescent lights. Sterile corridor. Doors on either side, all closed. And at the end: Helena Vance.
Kira had seen photos. They didn’t capture her completely. Helena was tall, elegant, wearing an expensive minimalist suit. Dark hair pulled back. No jewelry. No makeup. Just pure efficiency.
She looked like someone who’d never made an impulsive decision in her life.
“Ms. Osei. Thank you for coming.” Helena gestured to a room on the right. “Please.”
Inside was a medical exam room. Chair with restraints. Monitoring equipment. And on a cart: the extraction device.
Kira felt her stomach drop.
“Have a seat,” Helena said.
“I thought we were negotiating.”
“We are. You’re providing information. I’m providing incentive to be truthful.” Helena smiled without warmth. “Please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t know how this works.”
Kira sat. Didn’t fight when Helena secured the restraints. Wrist, ankles, across the chest. Firm but not painful.
“You killed forty-seven people,” Kira said.
“I preserved their memories for future generations. A gift, really.”
“They didn’t consent.”
“They participated in consciousness studies decades ago. Consent was implied by participation.”
“That’s not how consent works.”
“It is in my framework.” Helena adjusted the device. Placed electrodes on Kira’s temples. “You’re an intelligent woman, Ms. Osei. Surely you understand. Progress requires sacrifice. Scientific advancement has always involved difficult choices.”
“Murder isn’t progress.”
“Death was inevitable for those individuals. I simply ensured their knowledge wasn’t lost.” Helena powered up the machine. Low hum. “Your friend Eliza Wright. Former singer. Dementia patient. She was dying anyway. I gave her death meaning. Captured her memories of the 1970s counterculture. Invaluable historical data.”
“She died terrified and alone.”
“She died with purpose.” Helena’s voice was clinical. “Now. Let’s discuss what you know about the manuscripts. Starting with their current locations.”
The device activated. Kira felt a sensation like pressure inside her skull. Not painful yet. But present. Wrong.
“I don’t know where they are,” Kira said.
“Your brain activity suggests otherwise.” Helena adjusted a setting. “The technology can detect deception. Please don’t make this difficult.”
The pressure increased. Kira’s vision flickered at the edges.
“The Gysin piece. First edition. Where is it?”
“Safe,” Kira managed.
“Define safe.”
“Where you can’t reach it.”
Helena increased the intensity. Now it hurt. Like her thoughts were being pulled out through her ears.
“Ms. Osei. I can make this painless or agonizing. Your choice.”
Kira focused on breathing. On Marcus’s face. Sasha’s laugh. The smell of old books. Anchoring herself to anything solid.
Then she felt something shift.
A pattern in the pain. Random but structured. Like CC described.
The frequency.
She’d been reading the manuscripts for days. Touching them. Absorbing them. Her brain had been learning without her realizing.
And now, under pressure, it was activating.
Helena frowned at her monitor. “Interesting. You’re generating interference. How?”
Kira didn’t answer. Just held onto the pattern. Let it build.
“This is new.” Helena adjusted settings rapidly. “Your neural signature is fragmenting. Creating noise. Did CC teach you this?”
Still nothing. Kira focused on the random pattern. Made it stronger.
“Impressive.” Helena actually smiled. “You’ve learned the counter-frequency faster than I anticipated. But it won’t save you. I can simply increase the extraction power. Break through the noise.”
She turned a dial.
The pain became immense. Kira screamed.
But the pattern held.
Somewhere in her fragmenting consciousness, she heard a voice. CC’s voice, from earlier:
“The frequency protects. But it doesn’t just defend. It can push back.”
Kira pushed.
The machine sparked. Monitors flickered.
Helena stepped back. “What did you—”
Kira pushed harder. Felt the pattern expand. Felt it interfere with every electronic device in the room.
The restraints released. Malfunction.
She stood. Stumbled. Vision blurred.
Helena was reaching for something. A phone. Probably to call security.
Kira grabbed the extraction device cart. Shoved it into Helena.
Helena fell. Hit the floor hard. Stunned.
Kira ran.
Out the door. Down the corridor. Behind her, alarms. Shouts.
She made it outside. Saw headlights. A car pulling up fast.
Marcus driving. Sasha in passenger. Back door open.
“Get in!” Marcus yelled.
She dove into the back seat. The car peeled out before she even closed the door.
“That was supposed to be a longer interrogation,” Sasha said.
“Improvised.” Kira was shaking. “The frequency. It worked. I could feel it.”
“You learned it?” Marcus looked in the rearview mirror. Driving fast through South London streets.
“Not completely. But enough. Enough to interfere with her device.” Kira touched her temples. The electrodes were still there. She pulled them off. “We need to get to CC. They’ll know what this means.”
They drove back to Peckham. Took a circuitous route. Lost any possible tails.
At the flat, everyone was waiting. Danny. River. Chu. And CC, looking worse than before.
“You did it,” CC typed. “I felt the interference on my monitors. You activated the frequency.”
“I barely know how.”
CC [screen]: That’s how it works. Unconscious. Automatic. Your brain protecting itself. Like breathing.
“So now what?” River asked.
“Now we finish it.” CC pulled up the map. “Helena knows you can do it, Kira. She’ll adjust her tech. Try to break through. We have maybe twenty-four hours before she figures out the counter-frequency to your counter-frequency.”
“That’s very meta,” Chu said.
CC [screen]: It’s an arms race. Always has been. Phantom knew this. That’s why she distributed the knowledge. One person can be overcome. But if everyone learns the frequency? Impossible to crack.
“So we teach everyone,” Danny said.
CC [screen]: Not everyone. But enough. Key people. Create a network. Make the knowledge too dispersed to eliminate.
“How?” Marcus asked.
CC smiled weakly. Typed:
CC [screen]: We publish. Put it online. Make it viral. The manuscripts, the techniques, everything. Turn Phantom’s secret into public knowledge. Helena can’t kill everyone on the internet.
“She’ll try to suppress it,” Sasha said.
CC [screen]: Of course. But we make it too big too fast. Torrent it. Mirror it. Spread it across platforms. By the time she mobilizes, it’s everywhere.
“That’s punk rock,” River said. “I approve.”
CC [screen]: Phantom would approve. She always said: the counter to fascism isn’t secrecy. It’s radical transparency. Show everyone how the control works. Then they can resist.
Kira looked at the group. Exhausted, scared, but still here. Still fighting.
“Then let’s do it,” she said. “Finish what Phantom started. Free the frequency.”
CC nodded. Started typing furiously.
Outside, Friday night in Peckham. Music and laughter and life.
Inside, a revolution in a form that looked like data.
Helena Vance had forty-seven victims.
But she was about to face seven million people armed with knowledge she couldn’t extract.
The Gutenberg Frequency was going public.