Renegade: The Ten Sigma Series Book 2

by A W Wang

  The thin screech of a rocket follows, and a glowing contrail whips across the intersection and plows into the building. The blast wipes out those unfortunate enough to have landed on the sidewalk.

  Unfamiliar weapons reply to the attackers, carving open steel and shattering glass down the avenue.

  With another twelve minutes left before my optical camouflage resets, I pull back from the battle and wend past ventilation exhausts, heading toward the opposite building.

  When I reach the corner, I pause, wary of my vulnerabilities.

  Stewart Park lies below. Slithering down one of the adjoining avenues is a unit wearing exoskeleton suits. Another group crouches against the storefront of a connecting street—Russian Spetsnaz from the look of their bulging cyber-enhancements.

  Ten minutes left—an eternity in modern combat.

  Booms come from a desperate firefight past the dark buildings to the south.

  No time to waste and no need for a protracted battle.

  I send rounds into the exoskeletons first, then I switch to those on the other side, not caring about any hits.

  They take the bait and work forward, returning suppressing fire and expertly using nooks and crannies in the street fronts to minimize their exposure.

  The tactics are effective, especially since I don’t bother trying to inflict more damage on them because…

  Both groups hit the curved pavement simultaneously, and a firefight erupts. Red tracers blaze between the forces as heavier whomps detonate inside the circle.

  With my task done, I head to the roof access and dash to the ground floor. After crossing the lobby, I reach the sidewalk and hop into a shadow.

  Augments armored with glittering rings descend from the haze, their magnetic shields radiating like neon against the swirling backdrop.

  I swap a kinetic energy magazine into my carbine.

  As the barrel configures into the twin forks of a rail gun, shots blaze at the fresh meat from nearby windows and rooftops. The magnetic protection deflects most of the attacks. I pop ultra-high-velocity rounds into three of the descending forms before a second barrage arrives. Metal pieces and body parts spill as more projectiles strike home. A third attack coupled with EMPs destroys the descent devices, and the newcomers crash onto a wide avenue.

  I wrap my cloak over my battle-mesh and fire at those who are firing at the wounded survivors. Without allies, everyone I see is an enemy—a tremendous advantage in this mayhem. After ten death-dealing shots, I scamper to the next set of shadows a half-block away.

  Seconds later, my old position gets shredded by a hail of advanced weaponry.

  Quickly, I draw a bead and send kinetic rounds into the shooters. After disposing of them, I empty the last of the magazine at anything that moves. As shapes jerk from impacts and drop from view, I smirk.

  Victors in one firefight, losers in the next; it’s a dog-eat-dog world.

  Not wanting to fall victim to my success, I pull into cover. I only have a few magazines left, and with the number of fresh forces showing up by the second, ammunition is going to become an issue before the night is over.

  Six minutes until the camouflage reactivates.

  Darkened figures dash at impossible speeds through the structures in front of me while a sniper sets up on the rooftop of a low-rise near the corner.

  Time to go.

  Waves of heat from burning buildings spill over my battle-mesh as I rush down the street, ducking into lengthy shadows and behind heaps of rubble to minimize my exposure.

  When booms roll down an avenue five blocks away, I cut into a side alley to distance myself from the immediate fighting.

  Even though my nape isn’t tingling, I use an overabundance of caution slinking down the narrow pathway.

  Any mistake will get me killed with these types of adversaries. No matter how simple this has gone so far, one wrongly placed shot or lucky sword strike will ruin everything.

  And Samantha and Ekton are still lurking. Regardless of who else has shown up, I know both are still alive and having more success than I ever could.

  My display signals. Red swathes highlight five hulking enemies marching down the next alley. Audio enhancements pull the sounds of servos whirring and pads thumping from the ambient noises of battle.

  With five minutes left, I could hide from such well-armored, well-armed foes. Instead, I swap an armor-piercing magazine into the carbine. As the barrel reconfigures, I draw my cloak and head to a cratered portion of the side wall.

  When I near a gap in the cinder blocks, I take deep breaths as my mind fills with information about my new enemies.

  These machines sacrifice stealth for firepower. Their vulnerable control circuits are protected from EMP by Faraday cages.

  I shut down the electronics in my mask to avoid collateral damage and wait.

  After the first two pass, I toss all of my flash-bangs over the wall.

  Instantly, I swivel and charge toward the gap as cannons and rockets obliterate the space behind me.

  The grenades explode with loud bangs and bright flashes.

  I take advantage of the momentary blinding of the sensors and zip into the alley, cutting loose with armor-piercing rounds.

  The shots whiz into vulnerable joints and limbs, poking holes with metallic stamps and damaging the Faraday cages protecting important circuits.

  I toss EMP grenades while weaving between the machines, dodging stray shots.

  The sharp detonations fry delicate electronics. Metal joints wobble and robot arms droop.

  Now at the head of the column, I draw my sword.

  The disoriented foes try to keep up, but the weakening of the command-and-control systems seal their fate.

  I whip between sagging armored legs in a blur, dodging swiveling gun mounts. The hyper-edge of my blade makes quick work of mechanical limbs and human controllers. As I reach the end of the column, the last machine topples with a clatter.

  My stare trails over heaps of my beaten enemies. The glints playing on the broken glass and twisted metal from nearby fires possess a certain beauty.

  I suck in a breath, trying to suppress a bubble of…

  Something I don’t know, but somehow, this new sensation feels comfortable and right.

  “Don’t be surprised you’re doing well.” imaginary Suri states.

  “I guess I should have expected it,” I reply, sheathing my sword. “I’m just surprised this is so easy.”

  “Why? Do any of these people have the knowledge of the threads? Or the experience honed by all the battles in the Ten Sigma Program? Remember, even though your body is passable for human, with the battle-mesh, you’re so much more than that.”

  I give a quick nod, thanking the Black Star Program.

  “Also, you’re still a prude.”

  My eyes roll, and I shake my head in frustration. “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “Just enjoy yourself.”

  Before I can ask about the cryptic statement, a dark shadow prowls above, roiling the haze. It’s a wide, flattish drone. A rain of EM pulses stutters over the streets, disabling any working electronics.

  Many weapons of varying types fire, peppering the craft. As chunks of propulsion and armor fall, a hum rings in my ears from the dying machine blanketing the neighborhood with a powerful scan.

  A pair of missiles screech and explode in the fuselage, ending the thing’s misery. The gigantic fireball tumbles into a nearby avenue.

  As I wonder about the sacrifice of such an expensive piece of hardware, my answer arrives in the form of rising hollers spoken in a sing-songy language. Giant figures scale the nearby buildings, gesturing in my direction.

  Midnight dragons…

  Their weapons swivel at me with unmistakable malice, and I run.

  Fifty-Seven

  With Balthazar’s warning ringing in my head, I speed away from the new threat.

  The pursuers doggedly stay on my trail down long alleyways and through war-torn structures,
moving too quickly for such giant bodies bulging with thick armor.

  My nape tingles, and I dive to the side.

  A large circle whips past and cleaves a nearby holo-emitter.

  Where did that come from?

  Nothing in that direction.

  I duck as a similar object whirls from the opposite side and decapitates a lamp post. A second later, more disks arrive from everywhere.

  As I tumble and twirl, barely avoiding injury, I glimpse a pursuer tossing one of the strange things. The wide shape grabs the air, and the flight path tightly curls—at me. Transfixed by the odd trajectory, I only sidestep at the last moment.

  They pull out more of the disks, readying another salvo.

  I hurry into a low-rise to neutralize the nasty weapons. With rushed breaths, I blast into a stairwell and charge upward.

  Seconds later, pursuing boots pound on the steps.

  After I storm onto the roof, stragglers from many different units appear across my path.

  I flick a shot, and a hobbling figure jerks and falls off the rooftop. A moment later, a splat rises from the sidewalk below.

  Another dark form with broad, curved armor, perhaps a Stoßtruppen, marches past an upper window on the right.

  I swap in a sniper round, and the carbine reconfigures to a longer barrel. A single shot punches through the glass and takes the German augment down.

  The others scatter as heavy thumps arrive from the staircase to my rear. Seconds later, dragonfly-shaped hand drones buzz through the air. Although tiny, the machines instantly become the target of any combatant with a line of sight into the sky.

  A curtain of EM rays and solid projectiles erupts, decimating the nimble devices. However, as quickly as they get knocked down, more arrive, trying to find me.

  Blasts of radio waves light up the area. One beam narrows on me.

  I kill the drone with a quick but not quick enough shot.

  As it splatters into tiny metal parts, shouts come and rounds blast through the vicinity.

  I sprint to the next building, flabbergasted by the attention. When I swivel past a vent, I glance back.

  One of the hulking forms is unslinging a cannon-sized gun.

  I dart sideways as a shell rips into the taller gray structure ahead of me.

  More of the things zip by, gouging chunks from the surroundings and sending debris over everything.

  I hunker low, practically crawling but still rushing to escape the barrage.

  When I poke my head up, the midnight dragons make beelines for me. I’ve fought many types of opponents tonight, but somehow, this attention feels personal.

  Why would they hate me?

  Smoke whips past as a wide combat drone rises from between the buildings and fires a missile.

  I twist, diving to the side, and return fire.

  Just as my shot hollows out the machine’s electronic brain, the warhead craters the surface behind my feet, and the concussion knocks me forward.

  Air whooshes from my lungs as I hit the ground. Although my battle-mesh and mask absorbed most of the impact, I struggle to stand, shaking my head to clear the grogginess.

  Familiar crunches come from behind.

  No time to think.

  I stumble ahead and jump onto a lower rooftop.

  Two intersections down, a group of augments cuts down an alleyway. Their armor is curved, more reminiscent of South American commandos—yet another type of combatant joining the citywide brawl.

  I sense an opportunity and cut to my right to head them off. Without enough space for a full takeoff, I leap across a wide avenue. The descent comes too quickly, and I barely latch onto a mid-level balcony to stop my fall. I pull myself up and smash through thick sliding doors. As I run from the room and into the hallway, nearby windows shatter from my too-close pursuers.

  My data dump of the area delivers the quickest route to the street, and I charge to the nearest set of stairs.

  Crashes of midnight dragons taking shorter paths through walls and floors rumble as I hurry down the stairwell. Finally, I rocket onto the second floor and break through a door, just as a midnight dragon smashes through the ceiling.

  The counter for the optical camouflage hits the one-minute mark as I leap off a broken balcony.

  Sixty seconds until I can disappear.

  Buzzes of more dragonfly drones fill the air, and large-caliber shells fly past my shoulder.

  I tumble onto the street, wondering at the expenditure of hardware to keep pace with my flight. While a hail of fire peppers the asphalt, I skirt ahead, twisting my body and adjusting my steps.

  Somehow, I avoid getting hit and stumble into the side alley.

  The group in the curved armor is scattered in defensive positions up and down the tight corridor.

  I lower my head and sprint.

  Long helmets turn as I pass. They’re too slow to engage, and with a final burst, I skitter onto the next street, unscathed.

  Every type of shot and EMP erupts behind me.

  I pause, turning my head.

  Looping arcs of gold cleave the darkness beyond the alleyway. The black forms of the midnight dragons charge, swinging the strange weapon, which tears through curved metal and flesh. Like everything else about these beings, the golden whip is something I’ve never seen in action, yet the damage it does sparks a personal familiarity.

  The display indicates my fifteen-minute wait is up. I engage the optical camouflage. Instead of turning around and attacking, I slip to the side and run counter to my direction of retreat.

  Despite my wants, prudence is the best course to take. Staying alive by not battling anyone this formidable is more important at this stage of the battle than getting more kills.

  As the terrible sounds of fighting subside with the midnight dragons no doubt victorious, I duck into an alley. Before I can get too comfortable, I stop and raise my carbine.

  Three figures in Liberation Front armor hurry past a burning lobby.

  I hold my fire. The forms are slight from youth and all too familiar.

  Although the battle calls, I shake my head and charge after them.

  I can’t let Javier, Alberto, or Manuel die in this place.

  Fifty-Eight

  After jumping into a narrow backstreet, I yank open a service door. I edge into the hallway, scanning the blackness for threats. When nothing appears, I rush past a restroom and sprint toward the main avenue.

  The walls rattle from an explosion as I pass a wide waiting area and enter an auto showcase at the front of the building. Although fires dance beyond the broken windows, this sturdy and mostly dark space is an obvious choice for cover.

  I duck behind a support column.

  Seconds later, three forms wearing Liberation Front armor clunk inside.

  I step out, nabbing their rifles and tossing the disarmed teens to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

  “Who are you?” Javier stammers, his eyes wide with fear.

  After glancing outside for any danger, I yank back my hood and pull off my mask.

  While the teens collectively breathe a sigh of relief, I return their weapons and drag them past a sleek wedge-shaped vehicle. When we reach the far wall, the counter on my active camouflage hits zero.

  Now visible, I pull them into a back office, thankful that, although several nasty scars crease their bulky armor, they’re uninjured.

  At least for the moment…

  “The three of you should not be here.”

  Javier pulls his helmet off. “The group that Flying Eagle contacted didn’t want another disaster. They couldn’t get that many people here, so they insisted everyone in the Liberation Front come for extra payment.”

  Loud whines rise above the fighting. No doubt, some fresh transports bringing new exotic soldiers into the mayhem.

  “There’s more than enough now. And a lot more are coming.”

  He waves outside. “How did this happen?”

  “That’s not important,” I re
ply, frowning. “You three need to get out of the city.”

  They draw angry breaths. Javier says, “We’re not leaving. Not until we kill Flying Eagle.”

  “He’s not worth it.”

  “When you gave him your message, you killed off a good part of the command structure. In all the trouble, we accessed the database.” He glances at the other two. “Our family members were sold off to slavery in South America.”

  “Or buried in some roadside grave,” Alberto quietly adds.

  Manuel leans forward. “We want our revenge.”

  I gaze at their determined faces. “This isn’t worth your lives.”

  “We can take care of ourselves,” Javier replies, once again assuming the role of spokesperson.

  “I’m not trying to put you down, but this place is filled with the best the world has to offer. Right now, you’re in way over your heads.”

  “We’ve survived for this long…”

  I resist the urge to drag my hand down my face. In a battle with this many specially trained augments, the life expectancy of a non-augmented person should be measured in minutes, if not seconds.

  “You can’t count on being lucky forever.”

  “We have nothing left but this.”

  “Do you even know where he is?”

  Alberto holds up a small tablet, miraculously working in the midst of the EMP party. “We know.”

  A red dot comes from a location ten blocks away where the overly muscled man is no doubt cowering in some corner.

  “In this,” I say, waving toward the street, “ten blocks may as well be a million kilometers. None of you will make it. I’ll handle Flying Eagle when I can.”

  Javier puts his hand on the display. “You have your battle, and we have ours.”

  I snort, thinking of our combined infinitesimal chances for success.

  Manuel and Alberto both chime in, “This is something we have to do.”

  I drag my hand down my face, giving into exasperation. “Okay, fine. Has he moved in the last ten minutes?”

  “What?”

  “The dot, has it moved?”