Brooks had just shown her the reason why she couldn’t trust anyone. He’d known the identity of her son’s killer all along but only chose now to tell her. Why he’d waited until now, she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Besides, it didn’t matter. The audacity of it made her completely overwhelmed with rage.
He didn’t know it, but she’d almost reached down for her gun. The only reason she hadn’t shot him there and then was because she was so overwhelmed with fury her limbs had been temporarily incapacitated; trembling in shock. What right did he have to keep it from her?
Her mind fought through the fog of emotional turmoil; still reeling from Brooks’ revelation. The Proxy...
She couldn’t believe the architect of all her pain and misery was the fucking Proxy. She’d always suspected it was someone within the higher echelons of NewHaven... but the second most powerful man in Sanctum-One? The more she thought about it, the more it started to make sense. The sheer scope of what she’d uncovered could only have been suppressed this long by someone as high up as the Proxy. It was why her superiors had warned her to back off countless times. The Proxy must have been made aware of her digging and tried to use his influence over the SPD to try and dissuade her from her investigation. If she’d succeeded, it would have exposed the Inner-Sanctum for all to see.
Her mind wandered back to Brooks and why she hadn’t killed him. Why she hadn’t taken the scribe back as payment for his treachery, and to hell with Sapien-Republic. In the end, she found the answer was simple. It came in the guise of a grubby little face staring up at her with curiosity; innocent eyes of a girl who chose to see past Lex’s terrifying reputation and gaze upon the person beneath, regardless of what everyone else thought.
She used little Kat to kindle the embers of her resolve; to keep going in spite of the shit she’d been put through. She decided she would keep going for her sake... so she wouldn’t befall the same fate as Julian.
The investigator hadn’t been exactly thrilled with her rescue; Lex intervening in her transfer to NewHaven by the spook – whose face she recognised, but couldn’t place where from. To a degree, she understood. Hall had no way of knowing what horrors had awaited her at NewHaven. She wasn’t sure Brooks would tell her once they got her to safety – maybe that was a good thing, she thought. All she had to do now was keep the cavalry occupied whilst Brooks got Hall to safety, then find a way into NewHaven… to the Proxy.
She careened the cruiser with ease through a fork in the road, deliberately heading in the direction of the sirens; their wails growing louder with each passing second. She needed them to see her. She knew they were tracking her – they had to be. Deacon had sent them in the wrong direction barely twenty minutes ago. There was just no way they’d suddenly figured out they were heading the wrong way and somehow knew the exact coordinates of her stolen ride.
The spook’s awake, Lex. You should have killed him. You’re growing soft.
She shook her head, relegating the cold, deadly voice that had been her very essence – up until recently – to the back of her mind… for the moment. If they saw her, their caution would be thrown to the wind caused by every cop’s urge to catch the perp; to fulfil their duty. Their blood would be up and would be embroiled in a full-scale police chase. She just hoped it would be enough to lure them away from Brooks’ position. One thing nagged at her. If the shoe was on the other foot – and she was the one in pursuit – she’d wonder why her target had suddenly stopped at one position for so long, to then suddenly turn around and head straight for her. In the end, it didn’t matter; it was out of her hands.
She weaved through the traffic with practised expertise; soaring in and out of lanes, which merited an orchestra of horns, slammed down in aggression, and cries of anger and abuse from citizens caught off-guard by her sudden, high-speed appearance to their relatively normal day. A cruel smile crept across her face as the g-force pulled at her. Her heart hammered in her chest as she revelled in the slick handling of the spook’s top of the range cruiser – she found it currently helped keep her mind from Brooks’ betrayal.
I’ll have to compliment the spook on his choice of vehicle the next time I see him… before I put a bullet in his skull.
The cruiser gripped the tarmac as though it were part of it as she drew ever closer to the blare of sirens. She could see their lights; reflected off the glass panes of the skyscrapers – two blocks ahead. Two more cross-sections and she’d be on them.
Up ahead, the traffic lights hanging above the middle of the junction suddenly changed to red, causing the vehicles in front of her to close ranks, blocking her way through. She was driving further to the left of the wide street. She quickly scanned the sidewalk, thanking the heavens it was devoid of pedestrians. Without taking a second thought, she wrenched the wheel around, darting the cruiser towards the sidewalk. The cruiser, not designed to drive up sidewalks at high-speed, jolted violently causing Lex to bite her tongue. She wrestled with the wheel in an attempt to recover control and passed the intersection, almost colliding with a transport-hub.
Ignoring the fact she’d narrowly avoided a collision -- one she’d almost certainly have come out second best – she slammed her foot down on the pedal; rebuilding her speed. She cursed as the SPD convoy barrelled around the corner in a hail of sirens; four heavily armoured assault vans, more than capable of reducing herself and the cruiser to pulp. She had to think fast. If her chances with the transport-hub were bleak, a head-on collision with the armoured vehicles was non-existent.
Yet, Lex decided to take a chance – not that she had an abundance of options open to her – straightening her cruiser so its course was facing dead-on with the wall of metal bearing down on her. Civilians on the sidewalks looked on in horror as the two parties drew closer and closer; their eyes transfixed on the scene playing out before them.
She turned on the auto-drive function and unbuckled her seatbelt. She opened the door, grimacing at the blur of the tarmac below, as it flowed past her like a conveyor belt. She patted the material of her suit, a dubious expression twisting her features. If Oliver’s talking shit about this suit’s durability, he’s going to get one serious ass-kicking… if I make it, that is.
She took a deep breath and leapt out of the cruiser; her muscles coiled and ready for impact. Suddenly, everything seemed to go into slow motion; her short descent to the road dragging on for what seemed like minutes as opposed to seconds. Then the world began to spin at a sickeningly rapid speed. She tried to roll with the velocity, but in the end, it was just too fast. She bounced and skidded along the unforgiving terrain in a tangle of limbs. Her body felt like it had been stuffed into a cement mixer with a dozen bricks. She was thankful the doctor had spoken true about her suit’s ability to dampen heavy impact damage. And though she was certain her body would be covered in a miasma of bruising; it would be nothing compared to the damage she would have sustained if she’d been wearing her previous attire.
Her trajectory veered her away from the road, towards the sidewalk where she was sent hurtling between two parked cruisers. She smashed into the steel shutter of a vacant shop with terrible force. Her impact bent the thin steel inwards, buckling it, and destroying the glass pane window the shutter had been protecting. She cried out as she dropped onto the concrete; all air and sense knocked out of her.
She slowly lifted her head off the ground, groaning as sharp pains lanced their way through her head and down her spine. Her view of the road was blocked, so she heard rather than saw the collision. A great cacophony of screams and twisted metal resounded through the street like thunder. Her optical sensors picked up a small crowd nearby, but it seemed as though an invisible cordon stopped them from proceeding closer to where she lay; their curiosity kept in check by their fear of her. It had been little more than ten seconds since she’d thrown herself out of the cruiser. A voice suddenly rang out in her head.
Get up, Lex! We’ll deal with the pain later… it’s not like you aren’t used to it.
> The sobering tones of her inner-monologue brought her back to reality. She reached up and grabbed the twisted mess the shutter had become and pulled herself to her feet. She dusted herself off, checking her suit hadn’t sustained any damage – surprised to find the suit completely intact.
She cast her gaze across the street where the convoy lay in a state of chaos. Her stolen cruiser lay upside down on the roof of one of the police units – having presumably been flipped over on impact. The convoy had sustained minimal damage but was in such a state of disarray it would give her an extra few precious seconds to get as far away from them as possible. Her sensors picked up the outlines of several officers scrambling out of their vehicles, trying to regroup and salvage the situation.
“She’s over here,” a voice called from behind her. Lex turned to find a man pointing at her with a length of broken shutter which must have broken off after she’d smashed into it. He blocked her escape down the sidewalk. He was young – maybe mid-twenties. His hair was shaved on one side; the other dyed blonde and slicked back. He was bigger than Lex, and though his stance was intended to be menacing, Lex could see the fear in his eyes that betrayed the façade.
She turned to face him; aware the officers probably knew where she was. She drew her pistol, the sight of which caused the blonde-haired man’s hand to shake; his thin piece of sheet-metal quivered in his grasp. She had to give him credit. He didn’t drop his makeshift weapon and run. He remained where he was, his eyes, though terrified, held a stubborn defiance.
He nodded to her gun. “So… y-you gonna shoot me, now? In cold blood?” he asked, his voice barely a croak.
She rolled her eyes. “Not exactly,” she said. She flipped the gun to stun mode and pulled the trigger. The small bolt of electricity made contact with the metal sheet, sending a few thousand volts up its length, continuing up the man’s arm. He shuddered – a comical squawk escaped his lips – as he fell to the ground in a writhing, juddering tangle of limbs. She casually slipped the gun back into its holster and hopped over him. “Nothing personal,” she said, before sprinting down the street.
She passed a few more shocked citizens, calling for help. Unlike the blonde man she’d shocked, the other bystanders had the good sense to stay out of her way. She took a right and sprinted down a narrow side-street, hoping it would be enough to lose her pursuers.
~
Sergeant Ortiz growled as he fumbled with his seatbelt; the thickness of his protective gloves made it more difficult than it should have been. Eventually, he managed to unclip it. He grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. He clambered out of the armoured SPD chaser and scanned the area for signs of the psychotic woman who’d caused the carnage. His partner, Martins, was nearby; assessing the scene for any casualties – civilian or SPD. Lucky the street wasn’t too busy, he thought. Otherwise, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. He caught Martins eye and beckoned him over with a nod.
“You alright, sir?” he asked, jogging over.
Ortiz ignored the question. “Where’s the assailant?” he barked, his eyes flitting in all directions; looking for any signs of her whereabouts. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he’d watched her throw herself out of the vehicle. Sure, he’d heard stories of her from colleagues. But hearing, and seeing were two completely different things. His friend, Gus, had been at the crime scene during her flight from the Trammel building. “She’s one tough son of a bitch,” his friend had said, one night over a few too many beers. “Saw her waltz out of the place like it wasn’t filled to the brim with officers.”
He shook his head, still in a state of disbelief. He’d watched her tumble onto the road – hitting it hard – before he’d become too preoccupied with swerving his chaser out of her cruiser’s path. She had to be dead, he thought; the speed she’d been travelling at would have ripped her body to shreds.
A cry echoed from across the street, pulling him from his reverie. He snapped his head in its direction. That was when he spotted her; dressed in a black suit with red stripes running down it, and a hood covering her head. She soon disappeared from view as she skirted down a side-street.
He called his team over, who were combing the street for her whereabouts. “She’s gone down that side-street. Follow me, stay frosty.” Then he was off, barrelling towards the alleyway, his team falling in behind him.
Martins drew alongside him. He cast a sidelong glance at his sergeant. “Sir, will I call for backup?”
Ortiz shook his head. “We’re the backup, Martins. Besides, we don’t have time,” he said, panting from the exertion of running in full body armour. Martins looked doubtful with his superior’s decision. Ortiz huffed out a sigh in frustration. “You’ve read the reports on this bitch. She has a knack of vanishing into thin air. If we wait for more men, she’ll be gone by the time they arrive, c’mon.”
The eight-man response team reached the mouth of the narrow street. Ortiz held up a gloved hand, halting his team. The street was littered with oversized bins and caged storage units – used by the retailers on the main street to store stock. Plenty of places to stage an ambush, he thought bitterly.
“Sir,” Alberts called. “I’ve checked the street schematics. Good news; this street leads to a dead-end.”
Ortiz pursed his lips, craning his neck slightly to acknowledge he’d heard. “We’ll call it good news when she’s in cuffs,” he replied with a growl.
Knowing they now blocked the assailant’s only exit, they proceeded down the street with caution; covering each man as they systematically checked every possible hiding place. Ortiz’s unease increased the further they got – made worse by the fact they hadn’t found her and they were running out of street.
They rounded a bend where they met with a brick wall. Confused, Ortiz turned his attention to his team. “Where the fuck is she?”
But before his compatriots could answer, his vision was filled with white light, followed by an ear-splitting boom.
Then the screaming started.
~
There were two things Charlie Deacon shouldn’t have done after he’d sent the armed response unit in the opposite direction of Hall and her would-be saviour. The first was driving in the direction of the pursuit after they’d been informed of his collusion in their misdirection. He’d been on his way to the address the woman had given him when his SPD comms alerted him to the development, despite his brain telling him otherwise, he’d made a U-turn and drove towards the direction of the chase.
He pulled up a short distance away from the collision – he’d heard collide two blocks away – and killed the engine. He waited, remaining cautious as he presumed all parties – especially the response team – had been tasked with bringing him in should they spot his presence.
The street was a mess. Banks’ cruiser lay on top of one of the SPD chasers; having been flipped up onto its roof on impact. The front end of the vehicle was a crumpled mess, and for a moment, he thought his diversion to the scene was in vain. Nobody would be able to survive that crash, he thought. His initial suspicion went up in smoke as he spotted several armed officers running down the street, away from his position, turning right and disappearing from sight.
He jogged down the street, passing a group of people as they congregated around a blonde guy; who was propped up against a steel shutter that had seen better days.
“She fucking stunned me, man,” the man said to no one in particular. “I thought she was gonna shoot me dead.”
Deacon continued on, reaching the small side street. He glanced down it to see a black blur, ripping its way through the armed response team in a flurry of devastating violence. Watching the precision of each strike was something to behold. His intention had been to provide support for the woman, but it appeared his intentions weren’t required. “Who can stop that?” he said.
“I can,” a familiar voice called, behind him.
Deacon froze as the cold barrel of a gun was pressed against his neck, as he realised that was the second thi
ng he shouldn’t have done…
… was get out of his cruiser.
~
Lex moved with deadly force; gliding her body through the fight like the flow of running water. She ripped through the response unit as though she were a knife cutting through wet paper. Of course, she wasn’t so flawless as to avoid every attack swung in her direction, but she’d learned from years of combat training that the best way to recover from a strike was not to fight against it but to use the momentum of the attack to her advantage.
She ducked a thrust aimed at her head. The baton, wielded by the officer, passed harmlessly over her head; missing her skull by inches. The officer’s clumsy swing left him wide open. She replied with a chop to his throat, temporarily cutting off his air supply. He staggered back, eyes bulging, gripping his throat as though it would somehow aid in his desperate efforts to draw in a breath. With the slight distraction of being unable to suck in air to his lungs, Lex snatched the baton from his grasp and drove the end of it between the gap in his visor. His head snapped back, blood erupting from his shattered nose. He dropped to the ground in a gurgling whimper.
Neon Revenge Page 21
