Shattered Dome, page 1
Shattered Dome
The fight for Crescent City
Book 1
By
Ike Ojukwu
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SHATTERED DOME
First edition. July 15, 2024.
Copyright © 2024 Ike Ojukwu.
Written by Ike Ojukwu.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1: The Crescent City
Chapter 2: Whispers in the Shadows
Chapter 3: Holograms and Heartbeats
Chapter 4: The Rogue and The Herbalist
Chapter 5: Love in the Time of Decay
Chapter 6: The Rebellion Brews
Chapter 7: The Battle of the Bayou
Chapter 8: The Heart of Darkness
Chapter 9: The Final Stand
Chapter 10: Shadows of Tomorrow
Chapter 1: The Crescent City
Post-outbreak street of New Orleans, Janisha steadied herself, her heart racing as the click of approaching heels echoed through the darkness. Three figures emerged from the shadows; their forms barely visible under flickering streetlamps. They were women of the night, each dressed to entice in a world that had lost its desire for such pleasures.
The first, towering and statuesque, her golden hair cascading down her back, wore a dress that hugged her every curve, the fabric shimmering with each step she took. Her ample bosom was barely contained, threatening to spill out with the slightest encouragement.
Next to her, a fiery redhead sashayed forward, her tight skirt leaving little to the imagination, her top plunging daringly low to reveal her ample assets.
The third, a striking beauty with skin as dark as the night and vibrant green hair, exuded confidence. Her leather pants accentuated her curves, and her crop top revealed a toned midriff.
They circled Janisha like predators, their eyes glinting with a mix of desperation and greed. The tallest leaned in, her voice dripping with false concern. "You alright, girl? That fall looked bad."
Janisha's pulse throbbed in her ears. "I'm fine," she replied sharply, her tone icy.
The redhead stepped closer, her scent a mix of perfume and desperation. "Not safe for someone like you to be out here alone. You lost?"
The woman with green hair laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. "Or maybe she's hiding something valuable, right?"
Janisha clutched her bag tighter, her resolve firm. "I'm not looking for trouble," she stated, scanning for an escape route.
The blonde reached out, her touch feather-light on Janisha's arm. "Trouble's already found you, sweetheart."
Suddenly, the night groaned, and a figure emerged from the shadows. Jerome, once human, now a grotesque shadow of his former self, advanced with a hunger born of the damned.
The women's bravado vanished, replaced by sheer terror. The redhead's voice was a shrill cry. "What do we do now?"
Janisha's survival instincts kicked in. "Run!" she yelled, pushing past them. But Jerome was faster, his decayed hand tearing at the green-haired woman's shirt, exposing her panic-stricken skin beneath.
The blonde stumbled in her heels, struggling to escape. The redhead was already fleeing into the night, her screams echoing in the darkness.
24 Hours Earlier...
Years deep into the aftermath of World War 6, New Orleans was a Pelican risen from ash, its neon skyline cutting sharp against the dusk. The streets, now graveyards for tech relics, pulsed with a raw, electric energy. "That dispensary? Nah, it's straight-up government bait," echoed a voice in the all-girls gym nestled in the Lower 9th. Amidst the neon buzz and decaying glam, life was a, Get-How-U-Live hustle, a truth Janisha was hell-bent on flipping.
Down at a buzzing street corner, folks labeled 'undesirables' by the government were throwing down bets on a street brawl. Holographic creds flickered from their palms, lighting up their faces with an intoxicating glow.
A man approached, his presence slicing through the crowd like a cold blade. There was an aura about him, an unsettling mix of power and danger, that sent a ripple of unease through the onlookers. The hair on the back of a nearby gambler's neck stood on end, a primal warning of the threat that lurked within this stranger. The air around him seemed to crackle with a dark, unholy energy, an ominous vibe that whispered of secrets best left undiscovered.
Next to the bustling crowd, almost unnoticed, stood a thrumming nuclear generator. Its low hum was a sinister lullaby, a reminder of the precarious thread upon which their existence hung. The generator, a relic of a world teetering on the edge of destruction, hummed with a power that could, at any moment, unleash an apocalypse upon the city.
“Yes, I’ll get more,” the gambler stammered to the mysterious figure, his voice barely concealing the tremor of fear. The stranger's eyes, dark and unreadable, seemed to pierce through the gambler, seeing into the depths of his soul.
In the ring, steel robotic gladiators, resembling some mad cross between pit bulls and war machines, clashed hard. Their twisted metal limbs locked in a brutal dance, throwing sparks and fury. The crowd was all hype, riding the high, a stark flip from the grind of their everyday.
A gust whipped through, carrying the bitter tang of burning oil and weed, a stinging reminder of the city's fall and divide. The clashing of the steel robotic gladiators resonated through the crumbling buildings, one twisted the arm of the other, sparks flew as the crowd erupted in cheers, it was a bizarre duel of metal and sparks. Janisha weaved through the crowd, her senses on overload. The clang of metal, the roar of the crowd, mixed with the raw beats of jazz and zydeco spilling from the street corners.
In this end-times Crescent City, where the rich cowered in their dome and the streets partied in poverty, life was a non-stop throwdown. Janisha slipped past faces lit by the flicker of a barrel fire, their eyes mirroring the flames that had swallowed their city whole.
Janisha was, the owner of the local gymnastics’ gym, was the last hope in the community. Her curvy shadow against the setting sun was striking, her skin glowing in the fading light. She stepped out to the balcony, fussing with the hologram on her wrist, her gaze sweeping over the neighborhood with a mix of concern and determination.
Soul, the local handyman, emerged from the shadows, his swagger a true to his streetwise nature. "Security system's all set," he announced, his voice deep and reassuring.
Janisha met his gaze, her eyes sparkling with challenge. "Let's hope it holds up better than last time," she teased.
Soul grinned, extending his wrist in a silent gesture. Their digital bands synced, sealing the transaction. "You've turned this place into a sanctuary," he said, leaning in close.
Janisha's smile was enigmatic. "And you're its guardian," she replied, their connection tangible in the air.
Soul's voice dropped to a whisper. "What does that make us?"
"Partners," Janisha answered, her laughter wrapping around them like a warm embrace.
Soul's invitation hung in the air, a promise of something more. "Dinner tomorrow? Let me cook for you."
Janisha, vibing with Soul's commitment, shot back with a playful grin, "You best believe I'mma hold you to that." Just then, a ride cruised by, bumping some old-school beats. Her brother, chilling in the passenger seat, threw a lazy wave, his eyes half-closed, lost in the vibe. Soul gave him a knowing nod, a silent shout-out to their shared past.
Right on their tail, three cyborg cop cars rolled past, all sleek metal and flashing lights.
Janisha paused, her eyes dropping to the battle scars on her hands. Memories flooded back of when her gym was a haven of zen, filled with the sound of kids laughing, flipping, and flying.
Now, those same kids came to her for a whole different kind of training – how to throw down, how to stay alive in these streets. Flicking through her wrist hologram, a message popped up from a mom desperate for a safe spot for her kid. Janisha's heart clenched; she saw her little brother's face in every one of those scared youngins. He was her everything, her sunshine, snatched away by the wicked that now ruled their block.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered herself, a smile breaking through, fueled by the sweet memories of their childhood. Sweat trickled down her neck as she peeped the scene around the projects, the heavy heat of the Lower 9th wrapping around her like a second skin as she leaned against the railing outside her gym. Mrs. Thompson, the coffee shop owner, called out to her, her voice a lively contrast to the stifling air.
Janisha turned, her smile a sparkle in the heat. "Just taking it all in," she replied.
Mrs. Thompson's laughter was a raspy reminder of the city's hidden dangers. "Be careful, Janisha. There's more to fear than just the heat."
Janisha's expression darkened. "I've heard rumors," she admitted.
Mrs. Thompson leaned in, her voice a hushed warning. "There's trouble brewing, and it's not just a storm."
Across the way, a couple of heads were getting heated over a joint, their argument rising above the street noise. Mrs. Thompson just shook her head, a look of 'been there, seen that' on her face. Janisha's worry deepened as Mrs. Thompson thanked her for the health shots she'd been hooking up. "Hey, you got anything for cuts and aches? My man's diabetic, always nicking himself."
Janisha nodded, "I got you, Mrs. T. I'll swing by tomorrow with something. Don't stress about the cash."
Mrs. Thompson's thanks hit deep. "You're a real one, Janisha. But remember, there's a storm on the way."
As Mrs. Thompson left, Janisha felt a cold shiver, despite the sweltering heat. Something was off in the air, and it wasn't just the coming storm.
Inside her home, Janisha blended her tonic, the whir of the blender a comforting rhythm in the quiet, while she read recipes from a holographic cookbook. A call came in, it was Maya's holographic call that interrupted the peace, her face contorted with worry.
"Janisha, your brother's in trouble. He's lost to Euphoria," Maya's voice crackled with urgency.
Janisha's confusion turned to concern. "What's he done now?"
"He's out there, high and reckless," Maya replied, her voice laced with fear.
The hologram glitched, freezing Maya's face in a moment
"He's out there, cruising the streets, getting high with his crew," Maya's voice was tinged with worry.
The hologram stuttered, Maya's face momentarily freezing in an expression of concern that bordered on the absurd, a tragicomic glitch in the digital ether. Outside, sirens wailed distantly, pulling Janisha's attention to the window. Her eyes traced the skyline to the Domes, those untouchable citadels of privilege, oblivious to the decay gnawing at their foundations.
The government's sweetened promises of safety and progress had never masked the bitter realities of her neighborhood, a place where survival was a daily dice roll, and the future was a luxury paid for in blood and sweat.
confines of her home, Janisha's world was unraveling. Maya's sharp voice cut through the silence, jolting her back to a grim reality. "Janisha, you hearing me?" Maya demanded, her tone laced with urgency.
"Yeah, I got it," Janisha responded, her voice a deep, resolute growl. She flicked away the hologram with a swift motion, her mind racing with unease. Mrs. Thompson's ominous words, "There's a storm coming," repeated in her thoughts, a freakish start to the hell brewing.
Von, her advanced AI, more than just a digital assistant but a spectral presence in her life, materialized before her. His holographic form, that of a 10-year-old boy dressed in a cyberpunk suit, shined with an otherworldly glow. "You look like hell, Janisha. Need help?" His voice, though synthetic, carried a comforting familiarity, the like house in a black ocean.
Janisha locked eyes with Von's digital visage. "It's my brother," she said, her voice low and tense. "He's messed up on some new strain they're calling 'Euphoria.' Maya just called, said he's tripping bad."
Von's pixelated face mirrored her concern. "Euphoria's being sold at those new dispensaries. Want me to dig into their secrets? See what they're hiding?"
Janisha hesitated, feeling the weight of her decision. "Be careful, Von. We're stepping into unknown territory."
Von nodded, his motions unsettlingly human, then disappeared, leaving Janisha alone with the growing blackness.
The door to her home creaked open like a scene from a horror flick, and in walked what used to be her brother Jerome. He stumbled in, twitching and jerking like he was in the grip of something fierce. His eyes were like black holes, sucking the life outta the room.
The door creaked open, a scene straight out of a horror movie, and in stumbled Jerome, her brother, now a shell of himself. He moved with erratic twitches, his eyes dark voids of despair, draining the life from the room.
"Jerome?" Janisha's voice quivered, barely above a whisper. Her steps were cautious, each one heavy with a mix of love and dread. Jerome, her brother, stood before her, but he was a shade of himself, lost in the pit of 'Euphoria,' a high that transcended reality.
The health shot she had been preparing slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor, its shards scattering like the pieces of Jerome's shattered soul. Her hand quivered as she reached out, torn between the brother she cherished and the unrecognizable figure he had become. In a defensive reflex, she snatched a vase, her eyes darting towards the front door and window, plotting an escape route.
"Janisha... help me..." Jerome's plea was gut-wrenching, each word a twisted knot of pain and desperation.
Janisha felt the grief hit her like a tidal wave, her brother's once lively essence now just a fading sound. Her home, a place of healing and hope, had morphed into a nightmarish void. Jerome's body convulsed wildly, his eyes shifting to an unnatural yellow, a sign of the monstrous change taking hold.
"Von," she cried out, her voice breaking, "what do I do?" Her plea was desperate, seeking guidance in the face of unimaginable horror.
Von's hologram flickered into existence, a lighthouse in a black ocean. "Janisha, you gotta get out. This is beyond us," he advised, his digital voice a cold among the presence of death.
"But he's my brother," she sobbed, tears streaming down her face, each one reflecting the neon lights flashing outside her window. The peaceful dome enclosing downtown New Orleans stood in a whole different world from the madness going down right in front of her.
"I know, Janisha," Von's voice was gentle yet firm. "But your safety is paramount. We need to think of you first. We'll find a way, but for now, you must survive."
Janisha's tears flowed freely; her heart torn asunder. The neon glow from the window cast creepy shadows across the room, highlighting Jerome's twisted form as he lunged towards her. Behind him, the unruffled dome loomed, a cruel reminder of the peace that was just out of reach.
Chapter 2: Whispers in the Shadows
Janisha, without a second thought, dashed towards the window. Vaulting through the shattered pane of her living room, she became a fugitive from her own home. Her breaths were ragged gasps, each one slicing her throat like a razor.
Her brother's voice, now a nightmarish hiss, echoed down the darkened streets, his image haunting her every backward glance, pushing her sanity to its limits.
Jerome, once her adoring younger brother, had transformed into a grotesque abomination, jerking and oozing black blood. He was a twisted joke from a universe that had lost its sense of humor. This was the insanity Mrs. Thompson had prophesied, not looming on the horizon, but unleashing its fury upon her world with terrifying reality.
Day 1...
Regaining her footing, Janisha's eyes darted in the dim light, catching sight of three figures emerging from the shadows. Women of the night, they stood outlined by the flickering glow of a streetlamp, their attire a desperate attempt to cling to a semblance of normalcy in a world gone mad.
The first, a statuesque vision with hair like molten gold, strutted in a dress that clung to her every curve, shimmering with each step. Her bosom, ample and barely restrained, seemed to defy gravity itself.
Next to her, a fiery redhead sashayed, her tight skirt leaving nothing to the imagination, her top plunging daringly low, revealing more than it concealed.
The third, a striking beauty with skin as dark as midnight and vibrant green hair, exuded a raw, unapologetic confidence. Her leather pants hugged her curves, and her crop top revealed a toned midriff.
They circled Janisha, their eyes glinting with a mix of desperation and greed. The tallest leaned in, her voice dripping with false concern. "You alright, girl? That fall looked bad."
Janisha's pulse raced, her voice icy as she replied, "I'm fine."
The redhead, her scent a mix of cheap perfume and desperation, stepped closer. "Not safe for someone like you to be out here alone. You lost?"
The woman with green hair laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. "Or maybe she's hiding something valuable, right?"
Janisha clutched her bag tighter, her resolve firm. "I'm not looking for trouble," she stated, scanning for an escape route.
The blonde reached out, her touch feather-light on Janisha's arm. "Trouble's already found you, sweetheart."
Suddenly, the night groaned, and a figure emerged from the shadows. Jerome, once human, now a grotesque shadow of his former self, advanced with a hunger born of the damned.
The women's bravado vanished, replaced by sheer terror. The redhead's voice was a shrill cry. "What do we do now?"
Janisha's survival instincts kicked in. "Run!" she yelled, pushing past them. But Jerome was faster, his decayed hand tearing at the green-haired woman's shirt, exposing her panic-stricken skin beneath.
The blonde stumbled in her heels, struggling to escape. The redhead was already fleeing into the night, her screams echoing in the darkness.
