by A W Wang
Surprised, I realize the newfound teamwork is a subconscious extension of all the training we’ve done together. We jump back, allowing ourselves a moment’s respite.
Cat sends a sly wink, and we charge in unison.
With our movements synchronized, we push the enemy toward the reactor amid a symphony of dull ceramic-bladed clangs.
However, the face-painters are vicious, and they rally, turning the contest into a stalemate.
With six against two, Cat and I can’t afford the status quo. By unspoken agreement, we feint at the others then swoop against the already hobbled man. When my machete lops off his head with a fountain of blood, elation surges through me.
Before I can get too giddy from the strange sensation, the remaining five erupt with fury, and the slashes and thrusts of their blades come harder and faster.
Despite Cat and I working together, we’re still losing.
A slice appears across Cat’s stomach, but the injury isn’t serious.
After I deflect a thrust, a machete digs into my thigh. I move the leg, relieved to find it functional, and score a hit across a man’s forearm.
Cat yelps from another wound but connects with a clean hit down an opponent’s arm.
As the enemy presses forward, our injuries pile up as more attacks find flesh, but their front narrows with the diamond-cheeked woman focused solely on me. Steeling my nerves by imagining what they’ve been doing to my teammates, I parry an overhand strike and twist around her.
Her backslash slices down my shoulder blade, but I break free and stumble past the line.
Before I take another step, something yanks at my left hand.
I squirm and swipe at the woman, trying to pull my arm away.
She blocks my attack. “Stop him,” she screams.
The ones dueling Cat turn and run at me.
Wobbly from wounds, Cat attacks, occupying three of the others, but the last one, the man with horizontal stripes running down his face, comes at me.
Desperately, I struggle to drag the woman toward the reactor before he can arrive, but this is a race I’m going to lose.
A flash of sunlight smeared with black crashes into my mind. It’s my goal. Although not sure of what it is, I know it’s important enough to do what it takes.
I take a giant swing with my machete, and when the diamond-cheeked woman tries to block, I bring the arc in and slam the sharp edge through my wrist.
Crimson spurts from the stump, and I jerk backward.
The diamond-cheeked woman falls in the opposite direction, wide-eyed and staring at my hand in her hand.
As I regain my balance, she recovers from the shock and tosses the former part of my body aside. Weakening from blood loss, I pivot and charge forward, not caring if I fly or fall into the reactor.
A knife whizzes past my ear, and I jerk to the side, which is fortunate because the next one buries itself under my shoulder, just missing the heart.
The man with the horizontal stripes and five sigma score yells, raising his machete for a death strike.
I fling my weapon at him.
The blade sinks into his chest, and his mouth gapes in shock.
Surprised by the success, I stumble another step before a knife hits my thigh. I stagger forward, reaching out with my remaining arm, as I fall onto the slippery floor.
My fingertips graze the flared base of the reactor.
The pulsing hums stop, and the circuits scattered over the cylinder flash in unison.
Dizzy, I grab the end of my still spurting stump and roll over, giving a dull stare to my nemesis.
Fury contorts the diamond-cheeked woman’s face, and she charges, machete high, ready to hack me into gory chunks.
A step from me, she sinks to her knees as if punched.
I watch, confused, until the strokes representing her five score flutter and reanimate into the hollow oval of a zero.
As the golden sparkles end the scenario, she releases an inhuman wail.
A single thought rises above my indifference to her plight.
I’m sorry I didn’t kill her.
After materializing in the ready room, I flex the fingers of my restored hand.
More severely wounded, a shivering Cat rests against the chair back, struggling to merge with her new, healthy state.
Across from me, two others have returned along with Jinn and his ever-present, ever-smug expression.
However, I don’t care about them. I care about—
Jet giggles, her beautiful face cleansed from her foul acts, a cloud of innocence spilling from her once again pristine, virginal body.
The image of the woman with the blood diamonds painted on her cheeks crashes into my thoughts.
I purse my lips, forcing away the echoes of her final shriek.
Who were those people? Not AIs, but not all human either. Or maybe the bloody streaks and their macabre deeds have my imagination playing tricks on me.
But worse, I’m not even sure if I should be happy, sad, or alarmed by my raging emotions. Slicing the machete through that face-painter produced an unexpected elation. It’s something I’d like to do again. With slow shakes of my head, I battle the notion. Although my past is gone, I’m sure murder wasn’t something I enjoyed in my prior life. However, perhaps this is what the Ten Sigma Program demands, and what I have to do to achieve my goal.
Whatever that might be.
Jet notices my gaze. “Did you enjoy the fruits of that scenario?”
The excitement of slapping her in the museum rises inside me.
Why does the notion of violence with Jet hold so much appeal?
“What the hell are you?” I shout.
Her lips curl into a coy smile. “Many things, Vic. But foremost, I am what I need to be to get to where I want. I’ve said this many times.”
“I mean”—I jab my finger at her nose—“with the blood. We fought a bunch of people who painted their faces just like you.”
Although her voice remains level, her tone fills with anticipation. “Did you enjoy the experience?”
“More than you’ll ever know.”
Jet stares with her gorgeous green eyes. “I’m glad you’re more accepting of what you can become, Vic.”
“Meat,” Block says, amused.
Fingers squeeze my arm, and I shake my head, breaking the trance.
“That was some effort,” Cat says a little too loudly. “We make a pretty good team.”
“The Ten Sigma Program doesn’t care about teamwork,” Jet replies in a chiding tone.
Cat glares. “I got a thrill out of killing those people with the bloody faces. How about you, Vic?”
“Meat!” Block thunders.
As Cat and I tense, Jet clamps her hand onto one of his thick thighs and says with serenity, “You should get a thrill out of killing anybody.”
A disgusted huff leaves Cat’s mouth. “Whatever you—”
The air pops, and Chews floats in the semicircle, stretching her long body and forestalling any further escalation of the situation. Her jade scales clink while she coils into a comfortable position. Oblivious to the dynamics of the group, she puffs out a cinnamon-scented cloud and starts the debrief.
While words spew from the avatar’s square mouth, I remain preoccupied with Jet. However—
“Chew, can you say that again?” I interrupt.
“Your score has increased two-tenths to 4.6 sigmas,” the dragon repeats after snorting out a charcoal-laden breath.
As the avatar returns to the boring post-scenario speech, I lean against the backrest, stunned and more than a little pleased. Except for when I came closest to death, this is the biggest increase I’ve ever received.
I am getting better.
However, the giddiness quickly subsides, and by the time the golden sparkles drop us off in the bright daylight of the Commons, a sense of dread has overtaken me.
I’m not even halfway to ten sigmas.
Still annoyed from the battle with the
face-painters, Cat starts in on Jet. “Whoever you think you are and whatever you think you know, stay the hell away from us!”
Jet smiles, her full lips sexy in spite of the impending violence. “You’re not someone I care about. If I wanted or needed you, you’d be mine.”
Cat raises her fist.
“Meat!” Block shouts, his beady eyes narrowing and pulling his simple face into a scowl.
I push in front of Cat, raising my hands. “Everybody calm down.”
Jet shifts her attention to me. “This is what you want, Vic?”
Cat shoves against my back, her furious breaths crawling over my shoulder.
Surprisingly, Jinn jumps between us. “This is a good team. Let’s not do anything to disturb its harmony. We all share the same goal. To leave this place.”
The obvious logic breaks the tension.
Jet grabs Block. “Come on, Blockie. We have something else to do.” While she pulls the oaf away, she throws a knowing glance over her shoulder and winks at me.
I shrug and push my arm in front of Cat, who is still trying to get at Jet.
As the pair heads toward their secret garden, Jet whispers in Block’s ear, and he thunders gleefully, “Meat!”
“That is quite a strange couple,” Jinn says in an understatement.
Appreciative of his intervention, I say, “You fought well and survived your second scenario with us.”
His nod turns into a questioning gaze.
“That’s the second scenario we’ve completed together,” I explain. “We can be friends.”
Jinn snorts. “You are a stupid, silly man. I only need the goddess with the red mane.” He points toward the top of a round building in the eastern skyline. “I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon meditating to confirm my worthiness while imagining her taste.”
My hands ball as he stalks off, but before I can chase him, Cat grabs my arm. “That’s enough for today.”
I roll my eyes and grind my teeth, wondering how the screwy dynamics of this team could make the day any worse.
“Hey,” one of the surviving newcomers calls. “What about us?”
I face the nondescript man and woman and hold up two fingers. “Two. You gotta survive two scenarios before we can be friends.”
“See ya,” Cat says, dragging me toward the Oriental Garden.
Although I want to go to the museum and settle myself, I don’t bother arguing because I don’t need yet another confrontation.
Cat leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Let’s go back to that circle with the sunburst and make up more dating stories. You might get lucky and get to second base,” she says with a wink.
As she talks about a make-out session in my parent’s basement and allowing my hands under her bra, I absentmindedly nod and let my worries return to my main problem.
Jet’s voice rings in my head.
“You should get a thrill out of killing anybody.”
I shiver on the inside because a terrible part of me hopes she’s right.
Forty
Although five sets of boots echo down the dark tunnel, we act as three uncoordinated groups. Jinn leads, Cat and I are stuck in the middle, and the nondescript man and woman in their second scenario with us, follow, guarding the rear.
While muffled gunfire reverberates from above, sweat, seeming to materialize from the musty, stagnant air, drips down my body. I pinch at my uniform, trying to get the thick wool unstuck from my skin.
Jinn halts under one of the scattered yellow bulbs that interrupt the blackness.
When Cat and I reach him, we pull into a defensive alcove recessed from the wall.
He points to sunlight creeping from the end of the narrow passage. “That’s the staircase to the surface.”
Cat touches a water stain spreading from a crack in the concrete.
“It’s not going to collapse and kill us like falling glass,” I say, referring to the last scenario.
“This death trap is on the map. Everyone knows about it,” she says, eyes darting to both ends of the tunnel. “This stupid plan better work.”
“Sometimes stupid and unexpected are the same thing,” I reply.
Instead of a chuckle or laugh, Cat glares while Jinn shakes his head, probably thinking of how unworthy I am.
After the other two arrive, I say, “No point in waiting, we have to coordinate with Jet’s team.”
When Jinn doesn’t move, Cat says, “Jinn?”
His eyes come into focus, and he takes the lead, fading into the next shadow. A moment later, the rest of us follow.
Besides more traces of distant shooting, the remaining steps prove uneventful. After passing the last bulb, we round onto sunlit stairs, and the mustiness of the underground gives way to dry, cordite-tinged air.
Cat stops on the landing, wiping her brow, and tugs at her bulletproof vest, no doubt wishing it covered more of her body.
I grip my assault rifle tighter. “This might be a shit-show when we get out, so shoot straight and make sure you don’t shoot me.”
Because both Cat and Jinn ignore the joke, I send a reassuring smile over my shoulder to my newer teammates.
They return blank stares.
I frown.
Maybe I’m not so funny?
Jinn creeps to ground level and pokes his rifle above the last step. When he sprints out without receiving any fire, we scamper to the top of the stairs.
From across a concrete roadway, Jinn crouches near a frosted window protected by a rusty grate, the lime green of his uniform conspicuous against the faded grays and off-whites of the scenario map.
After he motions, I set my rifle and edge into the daylight, squinting. Nothing moves, and I rush into the short shadow of a wall on my right, where I jam my back against a sloping abutment and wave to Cat.
As she and the other two run into position, I survey the area.
The ten-meter wall, topped by gleaming coils of barbed wire, runs another fifty meters to an octagonal-shaped watchtower. Past there, it makes a hard left turn, disappearing from sight behind a two-story building, and wraps around the rest of the prison.
Nearby, the painted surfaces are flaked from water damage but contain none of the bullet creases or holes one would expect from a battle.
A sign that nobody is around, and the pincer movement is working.
Surprisingly, Jet agreed to lead the other attack, allowing me a respite from her constant innuendo of letting something untoward happen to Cat.
I sigh in relief for the small things that, on occasion, go right in the Ten Sigma Program.
Jinn slides past the grated windows and peers around the corner of the building. When he motions, I step from cover and run ten meters to the next slope extending from the wall. From the wider angle of the courtyard, the enemy flag atop the opposite watchtower is in full view.
Gunshots echo from a firefight breaking out in the distance as Cat taps my shoulder and points at concrete structures aligning the wall in front of us. “We get there and trail to the next watchtower.”
Jinn disappears around the corner.
“Where’s he going?” I ask.
Cat tenses, sensing what I’m sensing.
Something’s wrong.
Instead of fading, the sounds of fighting grow.
“Shit, it’s coming this way,” Cat says, raising her rifle.
I do the same, flicking my weapon to fire three-round bursts.
Behind us, heavy sprays of dust jet from the building and outer wall as bullets whiz from a side alley. The cracks from assault rifles come closer, then boots thud and orange uniforms spill around the corner.
“Building,” Cat yells.
As the nondescript man and woman engage the enemy arriving from the rear, I fire at orange shapes sliding past the frosted window across the way. The bullets clang against the grates, shredding metal and shattering glass.
Cat shoots forward, spreading our defense along as wide an arc as possible.
>
As brass cartridges tinkle on the roadway, I slap in a fresh magazine and drop to a knee.
Return fire plows through the disintegrating glass and peppers the wall above me.
I flick my weapon to full automatic and empty it into the nearest window.
Orange forms tumble amid splashes of red.
More lead fills the surroundings, but this time, wet thuds intermix with the sharp impacts smashing into concrete.
No time to check who’s hit and who’s not. I reload and blaze away, sinking lower.
Bullets whip past, and I roll, firing the last of the magazine into a stumbling orange-clad attacker.
Jets of gore flare from his body, and he twists, flopping to the ground.
After a quick reload, I stoop and run to the nearest window. The holed and twisted grate hangs by a couple of screws, and I shove the barrel of my rifle under it and spray an arc of bullets over everything inside. A fleshy thump hits the floor as hollowed shots come from the other side of the building.
Coughing from the dust-filled air, I pop in a new magazine and rip off the grate.
A cloud of haze floats over the mangled, orange-uniformed bodies dotting the floor.
When the area stays still, I swivel and take stock of the situation.
In their second-and-final scenario with me, the nondescript man and woman lay on the cracked roadway near the side alley. Puddles of maroon cover the surrounding concrete, and their lifeless faces stare skyward at the great blue dome.
There’s no time to feel sorry; I have bigger problems.
With my assault rifle level and ready, I rush to where Cat sags against the wall, holding her stomach.
She curses. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this ambush.”
When I dip under her shoulder and lift, she groans. “Oh man, this hurts. It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”
“It’d be worse if the vest hadn’t stopped most of the impact.”
Her legs buckle with the first step.
On the verge of panic, I say, “Come on, don’t give up. Just a little more.”
She twists her head and winks. “If I get out of this alive, we’ll make up a story about me letting you get to third base.”
