Renegade: The Ten Sigma Series Book 2

by A W Wang

  And two ten sigmas.

  I run my fingers over my utility pockets, taking inventory of what I have to finish the struggle.

  It’s been a long night, and not a lot is left. The sword and knife. A single EMP grenade. Three stars remain from the throwing weapons. And the pistol and carbine only have what ammunition is inside.

  I’m not even sure it’s enough to deal with the remaining party guests, let alone Samantha or Ekton.

  Definitely not both at the same time.

  I sigh in disgust. Everyone is in the same situation.

  The ten sigma is the weapon.

  “To win where no one else can…” I whisper.

  “Prude!” Suri says with a giggle.

  I frown, unsure of why the word bothers me so much.

  A fleeting movement comes from the shadows two blocks away.

  I push the mask back on and take the augment down with a single round. Then I scan the intact rooftops. Most of the flat areas are empty, but I eliminate the few surviving snipers. After that, I shoot street-level targets of opportunity. When the magazine empties, I holster the carbine.

  Ten minutes until the camouflage is available.

  I shake my head. Translucence is only a tool; I’m the weapon.

  Time to finish this.

  I march to the staircase and head to the ground. When my boots hit the pavement, my sense of euphoria rises in anticipation of the coming challenge.

  Only the toughest of the toughest have lived through this meat grinder of a battle, and the remainder of this contest will feature the greatest fighters this world has ever produced.

  “You’re still a prude.”

  Ignoring the taunt, I head toward the research center, which remains the anchor of the fighting. I get three blocks before a familiar buzzing fills the air.

  Dragonfly drones, shimmering specks against the orange glows, rise into view.

  In a panic, I duck behind a tall holo-emitter.

  One pursues, its electronic brain whining.

  I shoot it.

  The gesture is too late. Insect-like machines zip in from all directions, and surveillance sweeps blanket the area.

  With no other choice, I toss my final EMP grenade.

  The wide-spectrum flash sends drones clattering to the ground. However, hulking forms appear down the street a moment later.

  I blast away with the pistol.

  The advanced rounds strike home with hollow thumps. Instead of showing any ill effects, the midnight dragons flick their arms, and golden tendrils light up the darkness.

  When they step toward me, I run.

  Sixty-One

  I sprint in broken lines down rubble-strewn pavement, passing wrecked ships, skirting around shredded bodies, and leaping over craters.

  The midnight dragons keep pace, not only from the rear but on parallel streets. They’re moving faster than the last time we tangled or, at least, they’re more dogged in their pursuit.

  Worse, I don’t have any available adversaries to run through as a diversion.

  I check the camouflage timer, hating the dependency.

  Just under eight minutes remaining.

  Spaces open to the sides, and I sweep my gaze higher, anticipating the wicked disks.

  My enemies don’t disappoint. Flying black circles crazily arc from the shadows.

  I plant my feet and pivot.

  The first whizzes past my nose and digs into the asphalt. More round shapes thunk into rubble as I roll, dodging the next barrage.

  When one lands next to my hand, I grab the edge and hurl it at the nearest pursuer.

  The disk careens sideways and gouges a nearby facade.

  I roll my eyes.

  The flight dynamics will take getting used to…

  Heavy steps pound closer, and I shove myself upright and sprint for safety, cursing the waste of precious seconds for such a futile gesture.

  More disks arc in my direction.

  To get out of the line of fire, I swivel at the next corner and charge into a wide area filled with the remains of flattened construction.

  I slow as dark forms appear to the front and sides.

  I’m cornered.

  Eighteen midnight dragons step into view, adjusting their positions to tighten the trap.

  I back onto a sidewalk, retreating toward a long heap of rubble, searching for any means of escape. When exposed reinforcing bars from a concrete block dig into my back, I stop.

  The massive forms advance, shrinking the surrounding noose into a loose, inescapable circle.

  Unsure of how this many could have survived the night, I draw my pistol again and fire at the dark shape in front of me.

  A hiss comes as the round hits center mass. The advanced warhead can beat almost any defense, but nothing happens.

  Perplexed, I holster the useless weapon and flick one of my last shurikens. The hyper-edge buries into another’s chest.

  The thing moves a thick arm and yanks out the star, tossing it to my feet. Smoky tendrils rise from the now melted, twisted point that punched through the tough hide of the thick armor.

  Fear bubbles through my insides.

  I have no idea how to defeat this defensive scheme.

  As a last measure, I draw my sword, which has the most hitting power of anything I have left. But even if the desperate idea works, with eighteen opponents, I don’t have time to hack through everyone’s armor with an edge that will dull with every stroke.

  I’m not even sure I can beat one.

  A figure steps through the ring and into the circle, making nineteen in total. From the bold red insignia on its helmet, I guess this is the commander.

  I brace myself to defiantly say “No” to the coming offer to surrender.

  That’s not what happens…

  A raspy male voice announces, “Whatever you are, fight your best. We’ll beat every part of you into a pulp, and then we’ll take you prisoner.”

  The animosity-laden tone strikes like a slap in the face.

  This is definitely personal.

  “You’ll be sorry you ever met me,” I say, spitting out the first thing that pops into my head.

  As I cringe at the lame reply, imaginary Suri says, “Stop being such a prude.”

  Furious at the nonsensical advice, I shout, “Well, what are you waiting for? I have some people to kill after I kill you.”

  The somewhat better, bravado-filled utterance does nothing to boost my confidence.

  After the leader nods and backs from the circle, the rest of the midnight dragons shoulder their rifles and pull out their whips.

  As golden tendrils flare against the darkness, a bulky form charges from my left, intent on beating me to a pulp.

  The tip of its whip cracks near my ear as I jerk sideways.

  Instead of using the length advantage of the weapon, the midnight dragon bounds forward.

  I duck under a punch and slice the sword into its belly.

  The damned thing gets stuck in the plate. As I try to yank it out, a fist slams into my side.

  A grunt puffs from my lips, and I stagger away, fighting to regain my composure.

  The midnight dragon pulls out the blade and snaps it in half.

  My eyes widen. A moment passes before I break out of my shock and deliver a side kick.

  The huge being barely budges.

  My follow-up punch has less effect. When I drive in with a knee and use all my might to shove it backward, the whip lashes out, scoring against my side.

  A line of pain sears into my ribs, and I wince, staring at a lengthy scar cutting across the battle-mesh. It’s the same as the blackened streaks that covered the military convoy and refugee columns.

  These augments killed all those people.

  Furious, I charge, lashing out with another flurry of enhanced blows. With my superior quickness, almost everything lands.

  There’s little effect.

  A return punch nails my chest, and I fly into a rubble pile.
/>   As the dust settles around me, I push back up, gritting my teeth.

  The leader chuckles as my opponent returns to its place in the cordon.

  Another advances. This time, the combat is all hand-to-hand, and I wind up sprawled on the ground then tossed into a concrete block covered with exposed reinforcing rods. The battle-mesh stops the jagged metal from ripping through my flesh, but pain still spikes into my body.

  I grimace, trying to find a different strategy.

  A new enemy charges, and a kick smacks into my chest, blasting air from my lungs. While I roll on the ground, gasping, a foot arrives and bruises some ribs.

  I stagger to my feet, grabbing a powerful arm. As my opponent fights the grapple, I try to use my better balance to overcome its raw strength. The tactic fails, and I get flipped onto my back.

  A heavy boot stomps down, and I twist to the side, just avoiding the blow. The thing grabs an ankle and whirls me in circles. When it finally lets go, I crash back into the reinforced block.

  Furious, I pull myself up. Whatever these augments lack in skill, they more than make up for in power.

  But what was I expecting?

  Anyone surviving the countless engagements during the night of brutal combat would have to be formidable.

  For my next match, I manage to grab a throwing disk and fling it at the surrounding circle. Like my first throw, this still misses by a wide mark, but at least, I have the general concept down.

  Laughter erupts from my tormentors, and another bounds at me. This one takes its time, weathering my assault, before twisting my arm and blasting a punch into my shoulder. I scream as the joint dislocates.

  A few body blows later, I get kicked into another jagged block.

  Slowly, I stand and gather my breath, struggling to control my trembling legs. True to the leader’s word, I’m slowly getting pounded into a pulp.

  My display indicates the camouflage is ready.

  I bring up my hand to activate it, but…

  How would being translucent help?

  I don’t have the hitting power to hurt these beings, and trapped in this circle, it’s doubtful I can escape.

  Especially against those whips…

  I back against the block, grabbing a metal bar poking into my thigh for support.

  With a cry, I fix my dislocated shoulder by jamming myself into the rough surface. The pain is so intense, I twist my hand and loosen the rod with a scrape.

  As the agony subsides, I take stock of my worsening situation.

  Discomfort shouts from every muscle, my limbs tremble with fatigue, and many bones are bruised. Half of me is unresponsive, while the other half is worse.

  Overall, I feel…

  Good?

  Surprised by the revelation, I steady myself by tightening my grip on the protruding metal.

  My barely passable-for-human body is adjusting, just getting ready to fight. I’ve only been scratching the surface of my talents.

  Rage colors my thoughts.

  Who are these beings to challenge a ten sigma?

  They have technological enhancements but have done nothing to earn their abilities, while I conquered the toughest program humanity could devise.

  I want to be here.

  The notion startles me, but that’s what’s been missing since my arrival in the real world. It’s not about winning a single impossible battle—it’s wanting to be in the heart of the action, being the person who jumps into the impossible and still emerges victorious.

  I twist the metal again, pulling the length free from the concrete with a loud scrape. The hefty weight makes the reinforcing bar suboptimal as a weapon.

  But…

  Before I can conceptualize the thought, my body springs into motion. Whirling the rod like a Kali stick, I leap inside my opponent’s guard and send an overhand strike. At the last instant, I tuck, whipping the end even faster.

  The bar slams into my enemy’s shoulder with a sickening crunch. Although the surface material doesn’t break, the energy of the blow travels straight down, deforming the protective plating and buckling what’s underneath.

  As I pull back for another strike, the midnight dragon staggers, emitting a grunt of agony.

  I do the same on the other shoulder, driving the hulking form to its knees, then I twirl and take a giant swing into the thick helmet. The steel drives halfway into the head before stopping.

  My eyes widen as the unbeatable foe slumps onto the ground.

  Their armor is designed to defeat elegant high-tech weapons, not something brutal that belongs in ancient history.

  Rather than pull out the makeshift weapon, I sprint back to the pile and yank out another rod, which winds up being long, almost as tall as me.

  I whip around and throw the steel like a javelin into a charging enemy.

  The result is better than Achilles or any other Greek hero could deliver. The tip disintegrates, burrowing into the armor, but the rest of the length continues and overwhelms the material, driving into the flesh underneath. A squeal rolls from the thing’s mouth as it staggers and falls, gushing oily fluid everywhere. The droplets hiss when they land, melting asphalt, concrete, and steel.

  Instead of getting another rod, I charge to the jerking body and nab a disk. This time, I toss it almost directly away from me at a steep angle. I grab a second one and whip it into the next oncoming opponent from point-blank range.

  The heavy circle rips through chest plating, and the wounded midnight dragon staggers.

  I leap up and kick the protruding part further into flesh and bone.

  The massive figure crashes onto the pavement.

  A fresh attacker lumbers at me, and I circle, adjusting my path. As it lines up for the attack, I twist as the thrown disk returns, zipping just over my head and into this new opponent’s face. With half its head sheared off, the bulky thing goes down with a thud.

  I laugh.

  Who needs to be translucent?

  I run over and yank out another two rods from the block while the enemy commander screams, “Get her!”

  To avoid shooting each other, the giant forms leave their rifles holstered and thunder at me from all directions.

  Peter’s voice echoes, “Perhaps one day you’ll let your desires come out. We’re built that way as ten sigmas.”

  I snicker and take the advice.

  Euphoria floods into my mind as I attune my senses for the coming destruction, noting every enemy and every movement.

  Gleaming gold snaps against the battle-mesh, sending stings into my flesh. The pleasurable sensations bubbling across my skin overwhelm the spikes of pain.

  Time to finish this.

  I charge into my plodding opponents, whirling the two lengths in a two-handed Kali-style.

  Now with superior hitting power in addition to better quickness, I mash the weighty weapons into limbs and torsos with devastating effects.

  As the seconds elapse, the clangs, thuds, and crunches blend into a magnificent symphony for my ears. When a rod becomes too bent for further use, I toss it and grab another. My swings get wider to leverage more force. Against more skillful hand-to-hand opponents, the sloppiness would be a detriment. Against these behemoths…

  They have no chance.

  The excitement from each hit spills over my body and pools as heat in the junction of my thighs.

  Fighting is better than sex.

  Rather than driving away the odd thought, I embrace my desires, getting lost in the ebbs and flows of desperate combat.

  This is what a “Proper Welcome” should be…

  “Now, you’re not a prude anymore…” imaginary Suri announces with giggles.

  A wicked swing cracks a thick leg. An overhand strike crunches a helmet. Metal blasts into a chest, breaking ribs. The rod meets a fist, and the hand disintegrates.

  Heat flashes from my sex, sending shivers through my body. I lose myself in the budding ecstasy, which is better than any orgasm.

  Broken forms tumble,
fly, and crumple from my vicious strikes until the storm of midnight dragons abates.

  As a deep sexual ache calls for more, I whirl my gaze over the mangled heaps, sucking down heavy breaths.

  Only one enemy is standing—the leader with the red insignia.

  The one goading his subordinates to break me.

  I toss aside the bent metal in my hands and march toward him, pulling a thick pipe from a rubbish pile as I pass.

  He doesn’t waver, holding his ground and activating his whip.

  When he flicks his wrist, I charge, using the pipe to ward off his attack. Before he can yank the weapon back for a second try, I come within range and deliver a blow that breaks a forearm and sends the whip flying.

  He swings with his free arm.

  I block with the pipe then raise my leg to absorb the impact of a low roundhouse. Another kick aimed at my shin follows, and I leap to avoid it, whipping my wrists.

  The thick steel slams into the side of his head, and his helmet flies off, revealing an older face with bushy eyebrows under a mat of disarrayed, gray hair.

  I don’t let up. I meet a wild hook with another swing, crunching his knuckles. Then I launch wicked attacks at anything that’s open.

  Deep thumps come as the lengthy metal smashes into armor, crushing everything underneath. The black surface deforms from multiple hits, and bones break with sickening snaps. More ferocious blows land on his legs and working arm, clobbering the limbs into odd angles.

  Somehow he remains standing.

  I wrap both my hands near the end of the pipe. After a gigantic windup, I swing the crude weapon as a club into his chest.

  The crushing impact launches him backward and through a concrete wall. As the dust settles, his limbs twitch, but he doesn’t rise.

  I march over to finish the task, but when I raise the pipe high, the hatred blazing from his eyes piques my curiosity. I lower my hands and pull off my mask. “Have I done anything to you personally?”

  Blood drips down his chin while his lungs labor for air. When he gathers enough strength, he replies in a gravelly voice, “You killed my daughter.”

  I lean closer, studying his face. The resemblance is unmistakable. “Princess?”

  He slowly nods, saying, “And three sons.”

  “That’s war,” I say with a shrug, thinking of all the civilians who had their lives destroyed by his minions.