Renegade: The Ten Sigma Series Book 2

by A W Wang

  While his breaths grow ragged, I send a reproach to myself for not feeling more anger.

  A deep cough sends a silver-flecked torrent of crimson down his chest. The fury in his eyes fades, and his lifeless body slumps to the ground.

  Exhaling, I back away and wonder how many other relatives from the fallen combatants will bear personal grudges.

  I roll my eyes.

  This is war.

  Hollow clangs ring from the direction of the park where I last saw the Spetsnaz. Further south, near the location of the Stoßtruppen, a line of crackles zips from behind the skeletal remains of a city block.

  The sounds dim until silence settles over the battlefield.

  A rat edges from a nearby sewer grate, tentatively looking for its next meal.

  I rub my nape.

  The spiders are quiet.

  Even though I already know the answer, I push the mask back on and adjust the settings for maximum detail. Nothing registers except for specks of carrion eaters flying in the distance.

  A moment passes as I watch wispy pillars of smoke rising against the first grays of the new day.

  The lesser talents beneath the apex of the predator pyramid—whatever I want to call them: pretenders, the junior varsity, minor leaguers, amateurs—have all been removed from the chessboard.

  I should give the fallen more credit for their steadfast devotion in completing their missions, but I suspect the other powers have control mechanisms for their super soldiers too.

  None of which matters because the real battle begins now.

  Although the surroundings are peaceful, two other combatants remain in the war-torn cityscape. All the grueling fighting up to this point has been a mere skirmish, a pleasant warm-up for the true gods of war to resolve their differences.

  Instead of apprehension from the daunting task, a calmness descends over my demeanor.

  I’m free from the bonds of my past, free from having any friends, and free from being part of any society.

  Winning the unwinnable is what I was made to do.

  Sixty-Two

  I drop the pipe, which hits the pavement with a clang. While handy against stout, slow opponents, heavy unwieldy weapons are a liability against ten sigmas.

  That trick could only work once.

  My eyes wander as I search the ruins, trying to devise a strategy with a chance of beating Samantha and Ekton.

  Only the knife, two shurikens, and the pistol with five rounds remain from the arsenal I brought into battle.

  Not enough.

  I take a calming breath.

  Samantha and Ekton have done as much fighting as I have. As Jonathon said, I’ve won battles with worse odds in the virtual world against just as formidable warriors.

  But…

  Even ignoring experience, both have the same training I do, and there are two of them.

  Softly, I say to the mashed figures splayed across the pavement, “I want to be here and face them.”

  Although the dead audience fails to respond, a desperate thought leaps into my mind.

  I frown.

  Because so many things need to go right, the fraught-with-danger idea is outlandish at best. However, it offers a chance, and that’s all I need.

  As my thoughts whirl into a tenuous plan, I step to the leader and grab a disk from a thigh holder. This surprise will only work once, and I take only one.

  The next thing is to choose the place to spring the trap.

  There isn’t much time because Ekton and Samantha are hunting for me, but I let precious moments tick past, searching my memories for the perfect location.

  The answer comes, and I rush toward Houston Square.

  When I reach the spot where I surrendered to Princess and Flying Eagle, I find mounds of rubble. The holograms are long dead, and most of the formerly posh places flattened from mini-clashes rolling across the vicinity during the night. In the center, the tall statue still stands, somehow pardoned from the destruction. On the opposite side, the hotel I entered with Jonathon and Victoria is a gutted mess.

  A good thing since this plan needs open space.

  I run to a narrow street bisecting the square. After I climb onto the remains of a second-floor balcony, I lean the disk against the bent railing.

  Now, it’s time to bait the trap… with me.

  I drift down a war-torn alley, seeking anything out of the ordinary in the dark grays of the bleak backdrop.

  Doubts seep into my thoughts, and I pause by a corner. Even if I find them first, they’ll hold the numbers advantage, needing only to be in a mutually supporting position when the inevitable clash comes.

  Nobody can beat them both at the same time.

  After a calming breath, I shove away the doubts and march forward, trusting to my instincts and the precarious plan.

  Minutes later, in the direction of downtown, a smear of silver wanders near the top of a blasted-open building.

  Perfect, they’re trying to trap me too.

  I travel toward the bait with deliberate steps, staying in the jagged blackness on the side of the street.

  The ghostly apparition reappears several times while I narrow the distance. Each manifestation occurs at a lower level until the slim shape gracefully lands on pebble-crusted pavement. The noisy surface means I have to detour a block over and double my speed to catch up.

  As I cross the next intersection, the now unmistakably female form heads in my direction. I duck into a darkened entrance, waiting.

  Slowly Samantha comes on, scanning to the sides, holding a Kali stick.

  I can’t decide if she’s out of ammunition or more desirous of hand-to-hand combat to finish me.

  Neither of which means anything…

  When she checks to her rear, I engage my camouflage and step from cover. As I speed toward her, I glance down, horrified.

  The impacts from the whips are visible as black scars. My translucence has been compromised.

  Too late to turn back…

  I grit my teeth and sprint.

  Samantha reacts by sidestepping and yanking out her pistol.

  With the need to conserve ammunition, I rush out of sight by charging up a collapsed wall and onto the third story of a razed building. Instead of coming down to fight, I shove anything within reach over the edge, obscuring her vision with a rain of fallen construction.

  She raises her arm to ward off a chair then jumps to the side to evade a tumbling beam.

  In the confusion, I leap into the rising dust, twisting to avoid hurried shots. I land next to her and grapple for the pistol.

  More rounds fly as we swivel, exchanging holds, struggling to gain control of the weapon. When the hammer clicks empty, she lets go—her ammo pockets are empty too.

  Before she can draw the Kali stick, I toss the gun at her face, forcing her to back away. My follow-up combinations of punches and kicks keep her on the defensive. Despite the scarring, I mostly blend with the background, which is a big advantage. After a straight-blast connects with her chest, I grow suspicious when she doesn’t activate her camouflage.

  My nape tingles, and I swivel past her, using her body as a shield.

  A round zips by and cracks a vertical support behind me.

  Ekton still has ammunition, which is a worrisome development.

  None of which matters; I want to be here.

  I close with Samantha, staying opposite Ekton, shifting fast enough to present an impossible target.

  He gives up trying for a shot and charges into the fray.

  I blunt the initial onslaught by surrendering ground, but the two combined more than make up for my semi-invisibility.

  After I fight off a high-low combo from Samantha, Ekton’s massive fist grazes my shoulder.

  I drop and sweep with my leg.

  He leaps away as Samantha sends a foot at my face.

  Crossing my hands, I meet the kick with a two-handed block, letting the force propel me upright. I leap backward and reset.

&nb
sp; An instant later, they charge and the deadly dance starts again.

  Tingles run over my body from the furious contest. Every choice I make is fraught with danger. A glint zips in the haze, a shadow whips up from the dust, and punches and kicks come from dizzying angles. The speed of the fight is breathtaking and unlike anything I’ve experienced, but I block or dodge everything while replying with strikes of my own.

  Suddenly, my battle-mesh reappears. I stare at the silvery material in disbelief; the sixty seconds have run down so quickly.

  The fifteen minutes to reactivate might as well be fifteen years. One way or another, this fight will be finished long before then.

  I flick my final two shurikens as a distraction and disengage, rushing past a shallow mound of rubble. As I duck into an alleyway, they activate their camouflage and pursue, now with every physical advantage.

  Just like I planned.

  I sprint down the narrow space, using speed to negate their optical advantage and, more importantly, counting up the sixty seconds to a minute.

  Ten seconds pass before a shot pings from the side, which has to be Ekton because Samantha’s out of ammo. Moments later, crunches come from the other direction as she tries to catch me in a pincer movement.

  My tactical edge is that I’m the only one who knows where this chase is leading.

  But they’re as fast as me, and I can’t make a beeline to my trap. The key is letting them believe they’re dictating the action while enticing them to be where I want when I want.

  The timing needs to be perfect.

  And done without getting myself killed first.

  I rush across a narrow street and slow.

  A shot clips a dead holo-emitter in front of me.

  I change direction and parallel a crumbling wall, poking my head up to allow Ekton the barest glimpse before sprinting away.

  Projectiles zip past my face and in my wake, cracking stone and cinder blocks. A ragged burst whips over me, a sign of agitation from the shooter. I hunch and keep going, happy to have them consumed with being the aggressors.

  Faint steps come from opposite and slightly behind. Through gaps in the buildings, I glimpse a translucent streak jogging over piles of broken structures. Samantha is content maintaining position and making sure I don’t double back.

  Ekton wants to finish the task.

  Good news for me.

  The gutted rear of the building that was formerly masquerading as the Taj Mahal appears when I round a corner. I hurry through the burned interior and past the fallen marble archways, reaching the square. With precious little time, I throw aside caution and charge to the bisecting street.

  Fifty-five seconds gone… five left…

  I leap to the second-floor balcony and grab the large disk, my one chance on a Hail Mary. Remembering the crazy trajectories the object likes to take, I squeeze the edge and hurl the strange weapon.

  The black circle whips skyward, carving a wild arc that will lead into the only cover about half a block away.

  Ekton plows past the broken entryway and follows my path across the square, shooting.

  Bullets zip by as I jump from the balcony. When my boots hit the dusty pavement, I draw my pistol and fire.

  The swift form zigzags and avoids every last shot.

  Sixty!

  Silver gleams in the brightening grays of the pre-dawn.

  Only this one chance…

  The materializing figure rushes toward the only cover—the statue—as the disk flies in from the other side.

  A faint but unmistakably wet thump comes as both meet behind the pedestal.

  Goodbye, Ekton! Goodbye, bald-headed high-school gym teacher!

  Before I get too excited, a hand wraps around the bronze corner, and a slender form wobbles into view. Red spews from where the black circle protrudes from battle-mesh.

  My jaw drops.

  Samantha.

  When they activated the camouflage, she must have retrieved the pistol while Ekton flipped her an extra magazine.

  While I stare in horror, she rips off her mask, violet eyes wide with shock. Her other hand clutches at the pedestal as she struggles to stay upright.

  Spiders stab into my nape, and I dive to the side.

  A shot zips through where my head was and blows out a chunk of the wall.

  As dust from the impact rains, I charge into a busted corner storefront and roll behind a smashed table. I take a heavy breath and yank out the knife, my last weapon.

  Incredibly, Samantha’s eyes blaze hatred, and she lurches from the statue and staggers toward me.

  Another shot whips through a jagged opening in the front, hitting the counter next to my head.

  I flinch and shift to the side, hunching lower. As more rounds pepper the interior, I search for some way to win. With only the knife, there are few options. I instantly discard any notion of running through a wall or down the alleyway. Ekton is more knowledgeable about plowing through things with the battle-mesh and, with the pistol, it would only take one nick to ruin any chance I have to escape.

  This dingy space is where we’ll fight.

  My heart pounds at the thought. I’ll have to blast into Ekton when he enters. If I dodge well enough, I might only get hit once. I just need to make sure that when I reach him, I give as good as I’ve gotten. Then it’ll be even, and I can win.

  I roll my eyes.

  This isn’t a scenario. Any wounds will last, and just make it that much easier for Victoria to dispose of me in the aftermath. When I fought Syd, I only needed to survive. Here, I need to be able to walk away.

  Ekton snaps a new magazine into the pistol.

  My eyes roll again.

  Even better…

  There’s no way to escape without defeating Ekton, and there’s no way to do that unscathed.

  Samantha takes another staggered step.

  I grit my teeth. I’ll deal with the immediate problem, and then I’ll find a way to deal with what comes next.

  A cry of anguish leaves her lips, and she sinks to her knees.

  Ekton’s footsteps pause.

  Victoria’s voice echoes from before when we surrendered to Flying Eagle, “There’s a time to fight and a time not to fight.”

  I grasp at the idea and holler, “Ekton, Samantha’s dying.”

  As a reply, he sends a barrage from the pistol. Nothing is aimed, and concrete chips and plaster splatter everywhere.

  I hug the floor, pushing behind the boxy shape of a robot. When the magazine empties, I poke my head up. “You love her, and you can save her.”

  “Victoria will send help.”

  “If she could, she would have already. It’s up to you.”

  He roars with rage, whipping out one of his massive battle axes. “Ten sigmas are the mission.”

  “I saw the way you looked at each other. You’re more than your programming.”

  He takes a menacing step.

  “Even if you could, you won’t be able to kill me in time, Ekton.”

  When he pauses, I shout, “You can get her to help, but you have to do it now.”

  Although his body wavers, I tighten my grip on the knife and tense for a last-ditch rush to meet his charge.

  The Ten Sigma Prime grabs at his head, fighting his nature.

  “Make your choice, Ekton. Me or the love of your life.”

  Blood pounds in my ears as shrieks of pain erupt from his mouth.

  The battle-ax clangs to the ground. Ekton bolts to Samantha and scoops up her limp form. A moment later, he vanishes down a side street, bellowing with rage.

  I let out the breath I was holding.

  A black thread offers ancient advice from Sun Tzu: “To fight and conquer in all our battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.”

  The hollow words do nothing to stem the unease gnawing at my core.

  In my last battle in the program, I used the love of my family and friends to ou
tlast Syd. This time, I used Ekton’s love for Samantha to convince him to abandon his mission.

  The uncomfortable feeling is anything but right.

  When the hideous sounds of his retreat quiet, an eeriness settles over the once-great City of New Austin.

  Still unhappy with my tactics, I step outside, letting my eyes wander over the destruction.

  Across the landscape, smoldering columns rise from the wrecked craft of too many nations. Bodies of every type of augment fill the streets. Higher, the grays of the new dawn silhouette the jagged shapes of the ruined skylines.

  A jet roars, rocketing north. A moment later, a speck rises into the sky and disappears past the brightening horizon.

  Although I’m in sole possession of the battlefield, my skin tingles against the battle-mesh. Incredibly, my body wants more.

  I ball my hands and suck down a deep breath, fighting off the primal urges.

  Enough is enough for one night.

  My heart calms, and I pull off my mask.

  At least for now, it’s over.

  The tip of the sunrise crawls over the rocky piles of a nearby hotel, sending gentle yellow sunbeams through broken walls and twisted girders.

  Golden sparkles glitter over the silvery material of my outfit.

  Like at the end of every scenario.

  I close my eyes, waiting to be taken back to the ready room where Haiku waits.

  Moments pass.

  When I look again, the same death-filled, battle-scarred scene surrounds me.

  My disappointment spills out in a sigh.

  This isn’t a scenario in the virtual universe. This is a single battle in the never-ending existence that is the real world, and only one of many I’ll need to fight before this war is over.

  Or until I get killed.

  Wearily, I sheath the knife and march across the dusty square.

  Time for me to leave too.

  Sixty-Three

  Except for stray breezes and industrious rats, the war-torn streets stay quiet as I carry two large boxes from the battleground.

  Hopefully, this is the last time I see this accursed place.

  At the entrance to the underground garage where I stored the speeder, a familiar despot dangles from a noose.