Read Kingdom: The Complete Series for Free Online

after, but his nose
was bleeding, so send a chopper and a Trespasser unit to collect him, medical
too.”
    Shapes begin to swim
into focus: tall black shadows surround him like coffin bearers staring into
his grave.
    One of them has a hand
to his ear, and he drops it and tells the other shades:
    “ They're
sending a Trespasser unit, about one minute out.”
    “ Sir,
he's waking up -” one of them shouts, alarm ringing in his voice.
    Immediately the clatter
of carbon fibre weaponry fills Mark's ears, and his groggy, drunken mind
catches up. He remembers the thugs in his flat, preparing his execution; he
remembers the fire taking his body and his mind and moulding it into something
stronger; he remembers the strength flowing through his bones, the thud of
bullets crashing into his skin to little effect.
    His eyes slam open and
he sees six tall, heavily armoured men in black combat gear pointing assault
rifles at his aching skull.
    “ Okay,
put him under - ” one of them begins to bark an order.
    Then Mark has risen,
leapt to his feet and grabbed his attacker by the shoulders. He hadn't realised
until now that he is standing in a crater, the men staring down at him like
students at an autopsy.
    Alarmed shouting fills
the air.
    Looking into the
fearful eyes of a trained soldier, Mark turns and throws him under-arm at his
comrades. Sporadic fire breaks out and Mark feels the agonising punch of
bullets driving him backwards. Dropping to one knee, he raises his hands to
fend off the stinging insect bites of the firing squad's rounds. One step at a
time, wincing and gritting his teeth through the pain, he stands and begins to
walk forward – then he is running, charging at the remaining soldiers. One of
them breaks and throws himself to the side before Mark hits them.
    He crashes into the
other three, throwing a wild hay-maker that sends a man spinning into a wall as
though he were weightless.
    A soldier closes with
him, and he feels a sharp pain in his gut: Mark doubles over and sees a knife
straining to pierce his skin. Disgusted, he grabs the man by the arm, crushing
it with his iron grip. Swinging him like a battle axe, Mark turns and clubs the
last soldier to the ground with the screaming form of his own squad mate.
    Leaving a gurgling,
groaning mess of limbs and men scattered in the cobblestone alleyway, Mark
clutches his chest and gasps for air, shocked at the violence he is inflicting.
He wants to apologise, and a choked 'sorry' catches in his throat as one of the
men on the ground produces a pistol and shoots him twice in the head.
    Mark cries out in anger
and frustration and clamps a hand to his throbbing skull as he leans down tears
the pistol out of the man's hand. He throws it at a wall hard enough that it
smashes into pieces.
    "I don't," he
wheezes as he lifts the man one-handed by the collar of his armour. "I
don't want to fight. Tell your superiors. Tell them I just want to take down
the King. While I can."
    The deafening approach
of a helicopter drowns out the pounding of his own blood in his ears; he claps
his hands to his temples in pain, dropping the man to the ground. Like a
hovering bird of prey, it drifts into view above the alley.
    Sleek metal and a
jagged, angular body hang beneath a tornado-work of blades. From each of the
great predator's wings hang missiles and hive-like pods of tiny rockets,
flanked by machine guns the size of children.
    Mark stumbles
backwards, wiping blood from his nose, and raises his arm to shield his face
from the buffeting, screaming wind. He whips his head around, looking for an
escape: to his back is the alleyway's end, a sheer brick wall belonging to some
towering corporate stronghold.
    A booming voice cuts
through the howling drone of the helicopter's blades, addressing him:
    “ Get
on your knees and put your hands on your head.”
    Mark looks up in
absolute horror, begging with his eyes, hoping that they can hear him somehow.
    “ The
King,” he shouts. “I need to stop