Nobility (The Dystopian King Book 1)

  Nobility

  Mason Dakota

  Copyright 2018 By Dakota Publishing

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters and names are products of the authors imagination and used fictitiously. The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  To my lovely wife, Jodi and how you inspire me to write.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Life swings on the axiom that sixty seconds can build a life or crush it. Sixty seconds can breathe life or to take it away. Sixty seconds: good or bad. And, for me, that axiom became real when I robbed a bank.

  I took a deep breath and held it, trying to quiet my beating heart in fear the pounding was audible. The slightest noise could drastically ruin everything. My life hung in the balance, and the consequences of failure were severe. My excitement threatened damnation in that dead of night. Every fiber of my being roared and buzzed with life so rich and sweet that I swore I could hear angels singing to cheer me on. I had lived for this rush of life, this kiss of death closer than any lover’s embrace. I survived off it for years, for the consequences of thievery in the Empire by the hands of an Outcast mocked the wrist slap any thieving Noble felt. A Noble might spend a few years in prison for robbing a bank, but an Outcast like me would be hanged for anything worse than publicly insulting a Noble.

  A bit drastic in my opinion.

  Sixty seconds remained before I had to move into position and ensure everything would go according to plan. It required perfect timing and finesse. High above the room, I lay unseen behind a cut portion of an unfinished ceiling. I waited patiently. The bank had been going under reconstruction the past few days. I was hired, to be one of the construction workers, I planted my body inside the ceiling and waited all day until night fall. The wait was long and incredibly boring, but it was the window I’d needed to get inside. I passed the time reading old comic books and western novels and people watching through small slits in the paneling.

  People act weird, even in public when they do not think anyone is watching.

  Now, in the dead of night I observed everything beneath me before making my move. Details always meant success or failure.

  Below me was a brass chandelier that lit a large room made of marble flooring. A small flank of stairs descended to the bank lobby. Large windows flooded the room with rich, pure moonlight, illuminating the few dark crevices that the guard missed with his flashlight. Four large spiraling pillars stretched to the ceiling and desks, used for banking consultations, scattered around the room. Counters with velvet roped-rows flanked the stairs leading down to the main entrance. A large round vault door sat behind an electrified gated area. But my target was not the vault. That would be too obvious.

  At the front desk sat a lazy and careless security guard with his feet propped up at his desk. He snoozed, like a man with few worries in life. I knew more cheaply hired guards were in the back and spaced out through the bank, doing coordinated patrols. With their body language and facial expressions, they looked complacent, like they were certain no one was stupid enough to rob a bank owned by this city’s most dangerous mob boss, Lady Alexandra Carline.

  Well, there’s one thief crazy enough tonight.

  Just for fun, I spent my last few seconds studying the overweight sleeping guard at the front desk. His shirt was un-tucked on his left side and ketchup stained his dark blue tie. Burger wrappings lay on his desk with a few fries left over. He wore a small flask on his hip which, prior to blacking out, he frequently drank from when he thought he wasn’t seen. He had a fading line where he once wore a wedding ring and sagging bags under his eyes from a weariness that appeared to be caused from more than lack of sleep. His near alcoholic state and the faded line on his finger suggested to me the man was going through a ugly divorce and did not seem to be taking it well. He carried a standard small sidearm on his right hip that I imagined his pudgy hand struggled to use properly. He also had the word Outcast printed on his left forearm like every Outcast has at birth, myself included.

  My wristwatch flashed a red light and I saw the cameras begin to change their angles of direction, which gave me a matter of seconds to move into the next blind spot.

  “Time to begin,” ordered Gabriel, my boss and mentor behind the scenes, in my ear piece.

  “Here we go,” I whispered. The rest of my team was smart enough not to answer over the line just yet. I silently slid the ceiling panel to the side and quickly propelled down a black rope I had attached to a crossbeam above me. Without a thud, I landed on the cool marble floor.

  Five seconds left to move to the next blind spot.

  I leapt like a silent panther to the stone pillar to my left and slid around it to its backside, out of sight. A count of three breaths and I was off again. I moved to a desk about ten yards away. I slid the last few feet, landed under the desk, and reached up to plug in a special hyper-slicer into the computer’s hard drive to hack into the bank’s direct system in a single fluid movement.

  “All right Michael, you’re up,” I whispered in the ear piece.

  “Roger that, Griffon,” he replied over the air. Michael was my team’s hacker and computer whiz, a real master, and he went to work immediately remotely slicing into the bank’s system through the hyper-slicer I installed while I lay there, motionless, counting away the seconds.

  “All right, I did it. You’ve got fifteen seconds, Griffon,” said Michael moments later. I ripped the hyper-slicer free and stuffed it into a pocket. I slid from under the desk and moved to a position unseen further from the computers. I didn’t bother
to stay hidden anymore, it was no longer necessary. The video was just recording, nobody would see it until after the robbery, and the only part I wished no one to see was over now.

  Now for the good part.

  I strode confidently around the bank’s floor like a man who owned the place. I skipped to the sleeping guard and swiped a few of his delicious fries. I scooped up some papers from a nearby desk and threw them left and right as I marched down the room. I jumped up on desks, kicked over chairs, and scattered office supplies all across the floor. I’m surprised the security guard slept through it all. I did all of this in full view of the cameras. It was all about making a statement.

  Hey, this might be the only chance I get to rob a mob queen. Might as well enjoy it.

  I slipped up next to the vault’s electrified gating and settled in right beside a doorway without any door handles and only a keycard scanner and thumb print reader. The door led into the rear of the bank where my prize awaited. The only problem was that I didn’t have a keycard or the right thumb print. But I had planned for that too. I crouched under the safe door to hide in the shadows as my internal clock counted down. Seven and a half seconds late, another guard emerged from the metal door.

  This one was leaner than his overweight co-worker still snoozing at the front desk, and he remained ignorant of my presence. I came up from behind and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck till he couldn’t draw another breath. His panicked scream was cut off by the strangled windpipe and muffled by my hand. He tried to fight back, but failed. After a few seconds, the guard slumped, unconscious in my arms. I laid him aside and took the keycard from his belt. A quick swipe of the card and a reading of his thumb print from the scanner put me through the door. It opened into a long hallway with many doors. Other hallways branched off from where I stood. My target lay behind one particular door. I kept my movement silent and on a rhythm, first taking a right and then the next left, making sure I remained undetected by the few guards back here.

  My target door was just a normal wooden door of fine polished oak. What wasn’t so normal was the gate made of iron pulled across it and locked in place. “Twenty seconds,” I told myself as I pulled out my lock picking gear and dropped to one knee to begin. The lock was amateur stuff with only two tumblers and took me fewer than ten seconds to open.

  These guys really don’t think anyone is stupid enough to rob them.

  I slid the gate back, swiped the key card and entered the safe deposit room. Some thieves believed the reward for pulling off a bank heist laid behind the vault door. I disagree. Sure there was plenty of money in a safe, but money was heavy and difficult to carry if a speedy exit was needed. When that happened it often meant having to abandon some of the earnings just to escape.

  However, the really valuable stuff always lies kept in the safe deposit boxes in sizes easy enough to conceal in your pocket. Things like important documents and gemstones.

  Inside the room, metal boxes lined the walls on every side from floor to ceiling. Each box had its own number and key slot. In the center of the room sat a single wooden table and a chair. There were no cameras or surveillance in this room. Those who entered paid for privacy. The only camera was the one outside that recorded me entering. I wanted the authorities to see me enter this room. When the investigation began, officials would review that camera’s footage, and fail to see my first crime of hacking the computer system. Cops would tear the safe deposit box room apart, searching every lock box to identify what was taken. Those rich enough to have access to the boxes would protest at first, and the cops would be so bogged down in paperwork and search warrants that I would be long gone. But, what I did in that room would be remembered, and the effects of my actions would forever change the city’s infrastructure.

  The clock ticked, and I had to move fast. I had come for two boxes—two boxes that would put a huge target on my head. Both were secured with silent alarms built in to alert the police and the box owners. Boxes SB274859 and SB820957 belonged to Lady Alexandra Carline, a ruthless mob boss who owned the bank, and Mayor Josephus Kraine, the mob queen’s personal puppet. Both were Nobles, which meant their ancestors were conceived in a lab and crafted to be genetically pure of any flaws or mutations in their genetic code, an aspect passed down through generations creating a completely separate race of humanity and breeding a host of hostility and heavy racism between Nobles and Outcasts (those without genetic purity in their blood systems and prone to mutations and diseases like me.)

  I dove into my work, going first for Alexandra’s box and then the Mayor’s. Both proved more difficult to unlock than the outside gate, but not too hard for me. It wasn’t long before both boxes laid open before me on the table. I knew silent alarms were going off. Less than three minutes remained before the cops arrived in heavy force, or worse…Alexandra Carline herself. Time ran short now.

  “You’ve triggered the silent alarm, Griffon. Security is on the way,” warned Michael in my ear, telling me what I already knew.

  “I hear you. I hear you,” I replied as I worked as fast as I could.

  The contents of Alexandra’s box consisted of the items you’d expect to find in a mob boss’s safety deposit box: a gun, a few passports all with different aliases, a small velvet bag filled with diamonds without serial numbers, a beautiful ring, a large wad of cash all in crisp hundred dollar bills, and a small leather book that was likely one of her ledgers for her business. To be honest it resembled more of what I’d imagine a spy’s safe deposit box probably looked like.

  The Mayor’s box held much less: a single passport with his actual name; a little black box with a sigma ring marking his status as nephew to Emperor Adam Rythe, a stack of cash to match the one in Alexandra’s box, some more jewelry, and a couple of folders that contained highly sensitive information Gabriel instructed me not to look at for fear of death. I was already a dead man for being in this bank after business hours as an Outcast. But looking at these boxes meant something much more dangerous. If the police did not catch me and have me hanged, Alexandra and the Mayor would have me hunted down for sure. Kraine’s punishment would be public and short. But Alexandra’s version would be long, painful, and in solitude…with repercussions that might extend to those who helped me tonight.

  I truly do love my job; every moment feels special when you know it may be your last.

  I read once that adrenaline could be an addiction for some. If that was true it certainly described me. I wanted to dwell in that moment’s rush, but there wasn’t time and I still needed to complete my job before the security arrived. Otherwise this would all be for nothing. I swapped some contents between the boxes, sticking Kraine’s heirloom and all but one of his files within Alexandra’s safe. I kept the last file, labeled “Nebula.” I slipped it into my pocket out of sight. This is what Gabriel asked me to steal and why I came here. I wasn’t sure what it was, only that Mayor Kraine went to great length to keep the file off any digital database and have it hidden in a place he thought secure.

  Too bad for him he never bet on someone’s recklessness.

  “The police are here, Griffon! They’re blocking off the area and the guards inside are heading toward your location. They’re nearly at your door now. Get out of there!” Michael radioed.

  I looked up just as the door started to open and a guard stepped in with gun in hand. I lifted my leg and kicked against the table with the flat of my boot. The table slid forward, smashed into the guard, and pinned him against the wall. He fell forward onto the table and dropped his gun on the ground by his legs. He looked up just as I hit him with the chair to knock him out.

  The movies have it wrong when someone gets hit by a chair. In real life, the chair doesn’t break; you do.

  That is exactly what happened to the guard as he collapsed forward unconscious on the table with his legs still pinned to the wall.

  Time was up. I slid the unconscious guard and the table back and headed out the room, leaving the open boxes exposed. At the e
nd of the hallway appeared another guard who shouted and pointed his gun at me. I dove to the right and headed for the emergency exit. Shots sounded, and I heard wood and plaster shatter as the guard’s shots hit the wall. I made it to the end of the hall and slammed against the emergency exit to throw open the door. It opened onto a dark alley that housed a dumpster, trash cans, and a fire escape that led to the roof of the building next door. Already, I could hear police car sirens close by as they worked to cut off exits and establish a perimeter.

  Seconds later, the guard burst through the emergency exit and into the alley, but I was already gone and high above him on the rooftops. This was my comfort zone, racing along rooftops, leaping from building to building. They each got progressively taller the farther away I got from the bank, which meant escaping to the ground level would only get more difficult—all a part of the plan. I went higher and higher all so my finale would be all the greater. They spotted me at the end of the line with nowhere to escape twiddling my thumbs. A Noble Police Force of Chicago (NPFC) helicopter flew high above the rooftops lighting me up with its massive spotlight.

  I really had expected these guys to show up sooner.

  “The parking complex is clear of all civilians and the charges are set, Griffon,” said Chamberlain, another member of my crew, into my earbud.

  “Gotcha, wait for my signal,” I replied. Chamberlain affirmed, and then the line went dead again.

  “Freeze!” someone finally shouted through a mega-phone from the helicopter.

  Do I look like I’m still fleeing still?

  “Remain where you are! You are under arrest,” said that same person.

  I sighed in annoyance and muttered, “These guys are blind. Do they not see me already standing here….not going anywhere?” Not wanting to be shot, I raised my hands. The NPFC was known to be trigger happy, especially towards Outcasts. Three black ropes fell from the helicopter and an armed man in black propelled down each rope. All three carried semi-automatics and approached me cautiously, giving me odd looks. I couldn’t blame them, given how I looked.