It was a dark night in the city of London. Big Ben gonged loudly- its glowing face showed that it was twelve at midnight. Few cars traveled on the roads at this late hour. The numbers of people, though, were many- punks spray painting the once-spotless walls of the council flats, late night shoppers walking like zombies into the 24-hour superstores, drunken people singing the sorrows of their life to strangers, men wandering around aimlessly after being kicked out by their wives- yes, it was another night in London with people bustling about.

However, the street in which he walked was curiously silent; untouched by any light save the lone lamppost at the edge of the pavement. The slightly built yet tall figure dressed completely in black headed towards it. Only when he came under the yellow light did he remove his hood. It revealed a pale face with angular features which looked not older than fifteen. Large, deep blue eyes blinked owlishly they adjusted to the sudden exposure of light.

The name of this boy was Cyrus O’Neill.

Cyrus frowned slightly as he glanced around his surroundings- nobody was nearby. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned up against the lamppost, as though waiting for somebody.

Ten minutes passed. Tick tock tick tock…

Waiting was frustrating him; he flicked the golden brown hair off his forehead, huffing out a cloud of frosty air. Just then, the sound of footfalls reached his alert ears.

“I didn’t expect you to stay a minute longer if I happened to be late,” a young girl’s voice spoke out of the darkness. A petite girl with short hair dyed a dark purple color and a smirk pasted on her make-up-less face, stepped into the ring of light. Despite her size, one could tell from her face that she was older than the boy; probably around 17 or 18. She was Lorena Hawthorn.

“Just goes to show how little you know about me,” Cyrus murmured with an impassive face. He watched Lorena take out a small box from the front pocket of her black leather jacket. It was a packet of cigarettes. Red painted fingernails delicately picked out a cigarette and she placed it in her mouth.

Click, hiss! She lit it.

“You know, those cigarettes are really going to be the death of you.” Cyrus remarked. Lorena gave him a crooked smile but before she could return some witty reply, a cough escaped from her mouth, followed by another. And another. She took a deep breath, and scowled at him.
“You cursed me or something. Come on, enough fooling around; let’s get going.” Lorena grumbled, poking him to walk in front of her. Cyrus shrugged; she was just annoyed because he was right.

The two walked towards their destination, in and out of streets, weaving through the crowds whenever there were any. Finally, they arrived in a damp alleyway which smelt of rotten tea leaves. Cyrus pulled his arm across his nose- he had a particularly sensitive sense of smell, the result of helping in his mother’s spice store. In front of him, Lorena strolled on confidently, unfazed by the stink or the eerie feeling this alley projected.
“She must really know her way around this place.” Cyrus thought.

Lorena stopped in front of a part of the graffiti covered wall. Her hands stroked the wall in a searching manner. As Cyrus gazed on, she slid a slight projection from the wall sideways, revealing a small handle. Lorena grabbed the handle and pushed it with all her might. It was a hidden door!

The heavy door opened into a well- lit hallway. The older girl motioned with her head for him to walk in. He did as he was told and she followed him, closing the door behind them. It shut with a load creak. Cyrus gulped. His heart pounded within his chest as if he had run a great distance. There was no turning back now. In a few moments he would face… them. The two strode towards the wooden door at the end of the hallway.

They called themselves The Alliance, a mysterious and feared group. And, they were waiting on the other side of that door for Cyrus O’Neill.

To be continued…