Free Red Denver: A Prelude to REHO (The Hegemon Wars) by D. L. Denham Page B

a private race. The enforcers claimed to have found the invitation in the victim’s pocket but not the shockblade. He knew it would be pointless to argue against this setup. He would wait for the sentencing and then make his plans.
    ***
    Reho studied Red Hall on his AIM. The enforcers on the processing level had unsuccessfully attempted to disable the device. Implanted deep into his arm and powered from converted energy in his own body, the device could only be removed surgically.
    Reho watched as the old man slowly lowered his body into another carefully practiced position. They were alone in the holding cells, enveloped in an eerie silence occasionally punctuated by an anguished, beastly cry.
    He froze in another strange pose and spoke for the second time since Reho arrived.
    “You are strong, but your mind is not calm,” the old man stated.
    Reho still stood at the bars. His eyes searched for the old man’s gaze. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the prisoner’s eyes were closed, his body as motionless as a statue.
    “What are you doing?” Reho asked.
    Apparently, the other prisoner had said all he intended to, so Reho pulled his hands away from the bars and turned toward his abandoned mattress.
    “Control is stronger than muscle. Where I come from, we don’t learn to kill. We learn to control our situations,” the old man said, his accent prompting Reho to wonder where he was from.
    “Neither of us is from Red Denver. We’re foreigners. Where are you from? And if you haven’t killed, then why are you in here?” Reho asked.
    “I am here not because I have killed. I am here because of what I have seen.”
    “And what is that?” Reho asked, returning to the iron bars. The other occupant’s eyes were now open and fixed on Reho. He held his gaze, but his body slowly lowered on one foot as the other stretched forward. He avoided telling me where he is from.
    “That Red Denver has resurrected the demons of the OldWorld.”
    “Demons?”
    “They are only death. And meant not for this world. Red Denver doesn’t flow red with the blood of men but glows green from the veins of the OldWorld.”
    “What does it mean?” Reho asked, wondering if the old man was crazy.
    “The Blasts destroyed our world. It is as true in my community as it was in yours. What kind of power could have done that?” He paused before continuing. “The same power that still kills in the Blastlands. Radiation. Its source still exists. And it’s here in Red Denver.”
    Reho listened and watched. The old man was now parallel to the floor in a pose Reho thought impossible. Control.
    The source exists in Red Denver? Before Reho could put his thoughts together to ask the prisoner to explain himself, the iron elevator door slid open. Three enforcers approached the old man’s cell.
    Reho watched as they unlocked the cell and bound his hands and feet, running a chain through both bonds that allowed one enforcer to easily control his movements. They took him without a word.
    Reho returned to his bed, still wondering where the old man was from, and what would come next.
    ***
    Reho heard the elevator groan to a stop. He stood and waited at his cell’s door. The rust had not rubbed off of his hands. The other prisoner had been gone for at least three hours. Reho did not expect to see him again—at least not in Red Denver.
    They chained him as they had the old man. He knew things would go quickly. Any plan to escape would have to wait until after the judge was through with him.
    The elevator shook as it ascended to the third level. He had switched his AIM to standby mode, hoping it wouldn’t be mentioned before the judge. If he were placed in a work camp, there would be talk of having it removed. He wasn’t sure if he could escape before they went through with the surgical procedure. It had been painful enough to have it implanted; he would kill everyone in the building before letting them come close enough to take it out.
    The elevator door