Excerpt

Condemned, Silver is left on the bridge to the Fringe District, her wrist still gushing blood. Moments ago, the delicate skin of her inner left wrist was sliced open with a scalpel and a small, platinum-colored microchip was expertly removed.

That tag was her life story, containing every detail of her life from the day of her birth to the last time she ordered a cup of coffee. Formerly a Commander in an elite military institution called the Hunter Division, she is now a prisoner. Relegated to the Fringe District, she joins the ranks of the banished.

A criminal, or so she is accused of being, she's cut off from her friends and family and left to fend for herself in this fetid, dank scrap of Old World land that was once called Staten Island.

Now, more than three hundred years after a global war changed the dynamic of our planet forever, humans are beginning to make their resurgence. This place, Amaranthe, is the first reclaimed human city, but Silver is not its first victim. Standards for occupation in the city are high, and many don't make the cut. If you're considered unworthy, any excuse will be used—any small indiscretion exposed—to place you before the Banishment and Enforcement Council.

In Silver's case, she's lucky to have been banished. In Amaranthe's poorly constructed, two-tiered judicial system, her sentence could just as easily have been enforcement.

Capital punishment.

Death via bullet.

Fortunately, the man who raised her holds some sway in the government. Not enough to keep her from facing the gavel, but enough to keep her from facing the gun. Amaranthe's governing body, the totalitarian Omega administration, is a harsh and cruel master, feared by all who dwell within its jurisdiction.

Left with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a few small weapons, Silver begins the lonesome walk toward her new Fringe District life. Her Hunter Division boots are the last identifiable remnants of her prior occupation. Stained with blood and dirt, the Omega emblems are hard to make out on the scuffed steel plates decorating the backs of the heels. Her well-worn jeans are made from a mixture of hemp, which flourishes rampantly in the New World, and para-aramid synthetic fiber—Kevlar. Designed to last for up to a decade of use, this pair has seen at least three rotations of the year already. They've survived countless days spent off-duty, romping in the playground of the unreclaimed world outside Amaranthe's secure walls, often finding themselves covered in dirt and mud, and Chimeran blood.

Chimera.

The creatures generations of humans—including Silver—have been bred to kill. Born in the aftermath of a nuclear war, they were human once … until their humanity was lost over centuries of rapid genetic mutations. During this time, ninety-nine percent of all living things on Earth died, yet the Chimera proved to be an adaptive and resilient new species.

Outnumbering this small population of humans by 25:1, the Chimera lurk in the shadows, scavenging for food in the places where human feet no longer dare to tread. Ferocious meat-eaters, they will hunt alone or in packs, and human is their prey of choice.

Kill, or be killed.

That's a motto of the Hunter Division, whose job it is—among other things—to destroy Chimera so that Amaranthe can continue to expand. Not to mention, the whole city relies on the Hunter Division kills. Chimera is the only source of fresh meat, and no part of the animal is wasted. Their hide makes good leather, and many things can be made from bone. Some live specimens are even farmed for their milk.

Today, though, Silver's jeans are clean. Held in the detainment corridor for almost a month prior to her sentencing, she's had no time to play. Affixed to the belt loops, a utility belt contains holsters for a hunting knife, a handgun, and two spare clips of ammunition. The knife, recently sharpened, bears a ferocious steel blade and a jet black handle custom inlayed with a sterling silver design: An Ella Cross .

This is Silver's trademark; her territorial stamp. Not only is it an ancient Old World symbol once known as a warrior shield, it's a pictorial representation of her birth name. Ella Cross was born twenty-eight years ago. Silver was forged in battle when she joined the Hunter Division.

Her handgun, an HK USP, also custom engraved, is silver-plated and bears her birth father's initials. It never leaves her side, and his old Hunter Division dog tags never leave her wrist. They bear his name and rank, stamped 'DECEASED' over top. Her own set of dog tags still hang around her neck, despite her most recent fall into unemployment. Stamped 'DISCHARGED', she tucks them inside her shirt—both pairs: The ones bearing her name, and another set bearing the name of the lover she may never see again.

Alexander King has been hers since the day she first laid eyes on him, but now they're separated by one impassable bridge. Only Omega employees can walk freely between the two polar opposite worlds on either side, and Alex was discharged from the Hunter Division, just like Silver. Though, with his spotless professional record, he was unable to be charged with anything more serious than engaging in a prohibited relationship with his unit Commander. Thus, he was spared banishment.

She wasn't so lucky.

She had a secondary charge to contend with: Treason.

Suddenly aware of the pain in her wrist, Silver pulls out a strip of gauze given to her by the surgeon and wraps it tightly around her oozing stitches. Better than nothing, she surmises. Her fingers wet with her own blood, she backhands some stray wisps of dark blonde hair away from her face. Always in a ponytail, her hair could go days without brushing and you'd barely even notice. She's beautiful, of course, but not like the girls in Old World magazines. Raised for the Hunter Division, she's tall and strong. Her shoulders carry a strength that could put some lesser men to shame, and her face hasn't seen a lick of makeup since her sixteenth birthday.

Sharp, silver eyes look out upon the world with a new found cynicism, and her lips are fully prepared never to smile again.

Fuck 'em, she thinks.

Fuck Omega, and the lies they've smeared her with. Fuck truth and justice, and all the things she's ever fought for. Fuck love, and all the pain that's brought her. Fuck dying, like they hope she will. She's armed and ready.