Echoes: The Ten Sigma Series Book 3

by A W Wang

  A pop spills into the air, and Lan floats in the middle of the semicircle.

  As Jet returns to her chair, she looks to me and winks.

  I return a tight smile.

  Block stomps his foot. “Meat.”

  I raise my hands and shrug.

  Either not knowing about or caring for petty social interactions, Lan jumps into the debrief, his helmet and gleaming visor more impassive than usual. The droll victory speech only lasts for a few minutes, and after the avatar tells everyone of their score increases, including mine to 3.21, we’re dumped into the barracks.

  While Block snores two bunks past my feet, I lie restless, staring at faint beams of starlight cutting under the darkened dome. The easy win with all of my team returning should have me celebrating. Or at least, I should be more at ease. With these newcomers, getting to ten sigmas just moved into the realm of possibility.

  At least in my dreams.

  However, churning thoughts keep me awake. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s wrong, but something’s off. Frustrated by the confusion, I flick my attention between blankly staring upward, or closing my eyes and watching already faint memories erode into ash.

  A mattress creaks, and Block quiets mid-snore.

  I lift my head, squinting down the column of bunks.

  Although the details are murky in the dimness, I make out a slender figure leaning over Block’s thick body.

  Hating to intrude on the privacy, I shut my eyes, trying to ignore hushed whispers and gentle rustles of movement.

  There is a feminine moan, and I push up with my elbows.

  The now unmistakably female form straddles Block from her knees and settles into a rhythmic motion. Eerily, the noises coming from the actions seem familiar, yet I can’t determine what’s happening.

  A flush comes over my face, and even though I want to divert my attention to anything else, my gaze stays riveted on the pair.

  The movements grow more violent, and the breaths huskier. A gasp erupts, and the one on top arches, slowing her undulations. Higher-pitched moans follow.

  I blink from a shocking realization.

  The sounds are from a woman having an orgasm.

  Twenty-Seven

  The cheap cafeteria table quakes.

  “Meat!” Block repeats, slamming his fist on the speckled laminate. The jolt rattles down the metal table legs and into the floor.

  Chairs scrape as nearby diners scoot backward.

  With more than the usual stupidity radiating from his face, Block returns to sipping his pouch of blue liquid.

  I tilt my head and ask Jet, who is sitting next to him, “Are you sure his name isn’t Meat?”

  Her melodious laughter oozes honey and sugar. “No, his name is Block.”

  Without the Viking helmet and leather armor, she’s more attractive than I imagined, having a swan-like neck and perfectly proportioned body, while her movements exude grace and charm. Unsurprisingly, I’m not the only one who’s been stealing glances at her.

  She somehow transcends the acclimation process.

  I push my gaze back to the massive oaf, wondering about the strange pair. Although combatants are supposed to be equal in abilities, I understand why Block would be unstoppable in a scenario. Aside from unnatural size and strength, his brutish energy wilts everyone in the immediate area.

  On the other hand, Jet is slender and, somehow, pulses an angelic innocence. It’s hard to imagine her audacity and excitement for battle making that much of a difference. Yet, she’s unstoppable too.

  And what did I see and hear during the night?

  Impossible.

  Block wipes droplets from his chin. “Meat!”

  “Then why does he always say meat?”

  Jet pulls the straw from her mouth and forces a silly grin from her face. “He has his chant.”

  I grimace, remembering the three phrase utterance sung to the rhythm of his war hammer smashing the woman into the pebbles of the beach.

  “Kill the meat. Cleave the meat. Eat the meat.”

  “Meat,” Block says, his wide smile flooding thuggish happiness over the table.

  Cat, who has decided to be sociable for some reason, leans into the conversation. “What Vic is trying to say…” She glances at Block. “And, of course, no offense intended, but only saying meat when you aren’t killing anyone is a bit peculiar.”

  Jet answers. “Oh, you have to forgive Blockie. He’s been here forever.”

  “Forever?” I say.

  “You mean he lost a mission, and his score got zeroed, right?” Cat asks for clarity.

  Jet cheerfully nods.

  “One way to beat an irresistible force in a scenario,” internal me states.

  “Meat! Meat! Meat!” With each word, the tabletop quakes from Block’s meaty fist, and with each quake, the nearby people scoot further aside to give the conversation more room.

  I flick my eyes to Cat, who has the same look of surprise I’m feeling. “His score’s been reset three times?”

  After pursing her lips, Jet says, “I think that’s how many. At least that’s how many he remembers. Isn’t that right, Blockie?”

  “Meat,” he says with anger.

  Although the repeated word is grating on my nerves, I can’t even conceive of the number of battles he’s been through. Perhaps enough to have crossed ten sigmas without the resets. And while that explains Block and his vocabulary, Jet remains a mystery.

  “So, you’ve both been back that many times?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Oh, no. We’ve only been together for this last go around.”

  “Regardless, restarting so many times is impressive. Hopefully, it won’t happen again.”

  “Now, Blockie has me,” she says, scooting over and sitting on his lap. “And he’s sworn to protect me. Together, we’re leaving this place.”

  Although I’m not surprised by the close physical contact, I am surprised the chair doesn’t buckle from the added weight.

  “Like the straw breaking the camel’s back.”

  Inwardly rolling my eyes, I say, “So, only a few battles?”

  “Eight,” Jet answers as Block squeezes his arms around her slender waist, practically engulfing the stunning girl with his bulk.

  “What about your story?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Why are you asking so many questions?”

  “The last scenario was pretty amazing. I’m not used to winning that easily, and I’d like to keep it going. Maybe have some teamwork to help out?”

  She wriggles demurely and asks in a coy tone, “You think we have some secret to fighting?”

  When I hesitate, uncertain of how to answer, she sucks down a mouthful of the blue liquid and closes her eyes. A moment later, her back arches as the corners of her perfect lips rise and her face lights with ecstasy.

  The posture reminds me of the figure squatting in the dim light, the instant before releasing the pleasured moans of an orgasm.

  Jet’s green eyes sparkle when she opens them.

  Block separates his hands from her waist and holds up his pouch. “Meat,” he says before taking a long sip. As he imagines something associated with eating, his tiny eyes glaze and his smile reappears toothier than ever. After he swallows, he says in a voice radiating childlike glee, “Meat!”

  Behind a forced grin, I wonder about their affinity for psychosomatic food.

  Jet focuses her gaze on me. “Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

  Uncomfortable with the energy coming from her unblinking eyes, I pinch my lip while my mind moves into overdrive, evaluating the offer.

  It’s what I need.

  A hand slaps my shoulder and squeezes.

  Blinking, I break from Jet’s mesmerizing stare and twist to Cat.

  “Let’s go,” she says, standing.

  I glance back at Jet, who seems more amused than anything about the intrusion.

  “We’re supposed to be practicing,” Cat says as an explanation
to everyone, including me.

  Her hand shifts under my arm, and I don’t resist when she yanks me to my feet.

  “We’ll continue this conversation some other time,” Jet says with a grin. “Have a good practice.”

  I reply with a weak wave as Cat leads me away.

  After the door outside the cafeteria closes, Cat pulls me a few steps to the side and stops.

  “So, you’ve decided to train me?” I ask.

  She releases my arm. “Of course not. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Then why did you drag me out of there?”

  Before answering, her eyes flick to the entryway and then up and down the long, empty hallway. “That girl is bad news. Stay away from her.”

  “Why? We won the last battle with ease.” I leave out the part about my happiness at returning uninjured for the first time ever.

  “That makes you want to team up with her? To be just like her and that idiot Block?”

  “I think they have something to offer. And a little teamwork wouldn’t hurt our chances.”

  Cat snorts. “Teamwork isn’t what that girl is about.”

  When I shrug, Cat says accusingly, “I know you feel it too. There’s something electric in the air when she’s around.”

  “So what? She’s attractive.”

  “In this place, she gets reactions that nobody should get. Even though I’ve forgotten most of my past, I know I never had an inkling of attraction toward another woman, but…”

  Although I understand her meaning, I say, “It’s about time I do something different to get out of here. Joining them can’t be any worse than what I’ve got now.”

  “The grass isn’t always greener.”

  “Then teach me how to be better.”

  She blinks as emotion floods into her eyes. “You have to believe me. Not getting attached to anyone is for the best.”

  It’s the most sincere thing she’s ever said to me.

  “You’ll be sadder if I get killed,” I quip.

  Cat curses and the earnest moment evaporates.

  “Do what you want to do,” she says, throwing up her hands. “But when things go bad, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  As she turns and stalks away, her slim form receding down the long space, I pinch my chin and let my thoughts return to Jet’s offer. There’s no denying the prowess of the beautiful girl. But Cat’s right too. There’s a strange dynamic underlying her and Block, which requires caution more than anything else.

  When the glass door slams after Cat exits the building, I blow out a breath of frustration.

  I’m not sure of what, but something needs to change.

  Because if I die, then what’s it all worth?

  Twenty-Eight

  The clangs of metal fade, and the desperate combat ends.

  At least for the moment.

  As I blink from a swirling mist of white powder, I survey the area, keeping my sword in a guard position.

  Orange from the sunset settles into the vicinity as the air clears. In the muted lighting, even the faded, broken facades of two and three-story brownstones lining both sides of the street look pretty.

  The surreal settings resemble a movie set more than anything else, and something my old teammate Cheri would have loved.

  “Yes, darling, you must appreciate the little things to truly live life,” I imagine her saying in an exaggerated French accent. Despite the macabre circumstances, I grin sentimentally in her honor.

  When the haze dissipates, only mangled bodies and small piles of rubble lay on the dusty-white asphalt. Nobody is in sight, the survivors of the fight having left the wide avenue seeking either safety or others to kill.

  I blow out a breath, wiping powder from my sweaty face and black ninja outfit.

  “It’s not really a ninja outfit.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Every now and then, when I’m not rolling my eyes at your antics, I poke around the threads. Ninja outfits are cotton or some other natural fiber, not a sleek-fitting, poly-something unitard.”

  “Who are you, again?”

  “If you don’t know, how would I?”

  “I think you’re female.”

  “That’s probably right. Got anything else?”

  In the midst of a life-and-death situation, internal me’s timing leaves much to be desired. I twist my head in long motions, hoping to end the conversation.

  When she remains silent, I check the area again.

  Still clear.

  Despite the brutality of the battle, so far, other than my “ninja” outfit being sliced in a few places, I haven’t been wounded.

  Another scenario I might live through unscathed.

  To stay on that path, I grab throwing knives from a nearby body and add them to the holster wrapped over my forearm with the “RED HAIR” reminder. The knives, along with the shortish sword, stiletto down my back, and garrote on my thigh, complete the original loadout for this scenario.

  Now satisfyingly armed and interested in finding a new fight or friendly face, I tread over the powdery pavement, stepping past the dead and avoiding thick puddles of blood.

  After I cross the nearest intersection, metallic rings spill from beyond some brownstones two streets away.

  Mindful of ambush, I follow the sounds across a narrow street and past the cracked bricks and peeling doors of row houses. As I pass a corner unit with a deep bay window, I pause, feeling the artful architecture should hold a certain appeal.

  Someone squeals, and I charge down the street, dismissing the nostalgic notion.

  After going beyond another set of dilapidated homes, I cut down a high, shadowed alleyway. Near the dead-end wall, I stop, having arrived too late for the fighting.

  The grotesquely hacked body of a woman lies across a blood-sodden area.

  Despite my having seen countless dead and wounded in the program, a queasiness twists my innards.

  With everyone’s infinite expertise for killing, attacks are generally directed at lethal areas to eliminate opponents as quickly as possible. However, the wounds covering this woman are clean and efficiently placed in many non-essential areas as if her killer took sadistic glee in inflicting them.

  Needing fresher air, I turn from the grisly sight and trudge into the orange sunlight crossing in front of the alleyway.

  “Boo!”

  With a start, I twist, raising my sword.

  Instead of a sharp blade or the pointy tip of a knife, I’m only attacked by a bout of high-pitched laughter.

  As my pounding heart slows, I lower my weapon and give a sheepish grin.

  “Hi, Jet.”

  The beautiful girl playfully rubs my arm. “Why so jumpy?”

  Not wanting to answer, I frown and glance to the side of her head, where she’s fashioned her garrote into a stylish hair accessory.

  She runs her fingers over the metal loops. “Do you like it?”

  “The concept’s a little morbid, but on you, it works,” I say, forcing levity into my tone.

  “I’m glad. Sometimes, you just have to take the time and make the extra effort to enjoy what these scenarios have to offer.”

  Although the reasoning is odd, I don’t ask for any further explanation. “Let’s get the others and finish this thing.”

  The cheerfulness in her mood vanishes, and she puts on pouty lips. “We never get any quality alone time. This is a nice day for a walk.”

  “Where’s Block?”

  As if just now noticing his absence, she looks around and shrugs. “We got separated. I’m sure he’ll find me.”

  “I’ve never seen you without him.”

  “Oh, no. What will I do?” Her arms crush me in a bear hug. “Will you be my big strong protector?”

  Against the constricting force, I croak out, “I doubt you need anyone.”

  She steps back with mischief sparkling in her green eyes. “Come on, Vic. Take a moment to enjoy the fruits of a scenario.”

  The request an
d wording are strange, and as far as places to have quiet conversations go, the middle of a life but mostly death situation hardly qualifies as a good idea. However, she is charming with an energy few could match, and truth be told, I’ve wanted to have some alone time with her. Also, given her predilections for violence, I can’t imagine a place in a scenario that’s safer than being next to Jet.

  Stupidly, I nod.

  “Great, this will be a nice walk on a warm summer day,” she says and, grabbing my arm, leads me into the street.

  While we stroll down the movie set like boulevard, more chummy than anything else, I stay tense, unable to wrap my head around what we’re doing given where we are. Jet might want a quiet conversation, but caution is still the word of the day. I scan the nearby buildings, waiting for an ambush.

  More metal clangs, and I stop, pulling away from her. The sounds fade before I can identify their location in the ten-by-ten street maze.

  “Stop being so scared,” Jet says with an annoyed huff. “If there was anyone close who was a threat, I’d know.”

  I take a deep breath but don’t bother challenging her assumptions. She’s right. In this respect, she’s similar to the seven sigma I met. Somehow they are one with the threads, and they just know. A tinge of jealousy rises in me. My talent level compared to theirs is just not fair.

  “Stop whining. Life isn’t fair.”

  “Thanks, mom.”

  “I’m not your mother.”

  “I know that.”

  “I know you know that.”

  The internal conversation stops when Jet once again takes my arm and guides me down the street.

  “So, Mr. Vic, what’s up with cutting those words into your forearm?”

  “So, Ms. Jet, what’s up with always charging around like that? It’s pretty reckless.”

  “Block protects me. And Block is unstoppable.”

  “He’s not here now.”

  “But you are,” she says, nestling her head against my shoulder.

  As I shift from her touch, she laughs,

  “How many scenarios have we been through together?” she asks.

  “Four.”

  “Oh, that many. Been fun, hasn’t it?”