Savage Bytes

by Sarah Makela

  The next door was a bedroom that looked to be in immaculate shape.

  Beside her, a wooden board creaked under Ian’s weight. They froze, and she held her breath, waiting for someone to jump out and attack them. Her hand hovered over the gun in her purse. She didn’t want to draw it because she felt too jumpy. Knowing her luck, she’d shoot Ian, but if someone came running at them, she hoped she’d be able to get to it in time.

  A low moan sounded from the door at the end of the hall. She cut her gaze to Ian, and he nodded toward it, urging them forward. It was doubtful that Redmoore would be sitting alone in a room and moaning by himself, so maybe… just maybe… they’d found Leon.

  Ian held his hand over the doorknob, and this time, she did draw her gun. She’d be damned if they were killed now after all of the stuff they’d gone through. He opened the door slowly, and she peeked inside the dark, almost empty room to see a figure laid flat on a stainless steel table like one would find in a morgue.

  At the corner, they saw a tall fridge, industrial quality, as well as a wall filled with various instruments, from bone-saws to surgical knives. The ceramic tile had slight red discolorations here and there, which made it clear that Redmoore used this room to work on his victims when he had the time.

  How horrible.

  Small benches and tables sat at the doorway, seemingly placed for whomever to enter to leave their belongings while they worked. The plastic sheets on top of both told her what happened here tended to get messy.

  She grimaced and glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming up behind them. When she was certain everything was clear, she stepped into the room, and Ian followed her in.

  His long strides ate the distance between him and the figure. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to be very close to whoever it was, but when she saw the person’s face, her heart sank in her chest.

  Leon’s eyes were closed, and one of them was swollen shut. His face had bruises from the chin to the top of the eyes, and his lips were chapped and broken. His mouth was gagged, and he was shackled down to the table. He moved his muscular shoulders a little, but stopped as if he couldn’t find the energy to put up much more of a fight than that.

  She touched her hand to his cheek, and he winced and groaned, trying to get away from her. “Ssshhh… It’s okay, Leon. It’s Hannah and Ian. We’re here to help you.”

  Ian worked the gag from his mouth carefully. “You’re okay now. We’ve got you.” He threw the disgusting rag on the floor and moved his attention to the shackles.

  She followed his gaze and frowned. There didn’t seem to be a clear way to get him out of there. There wasn’t a keyhole for her to use her lock pick. How were they supposed to free him?

  “Is it really… you guys? Am I… dreaming this?” Leon’s voice cracked as he spoke, and it ripped her heart to shreds just listening to him.

  “Yes, we’re here. We just have to figure out how to get these cuffs off you, then we’ll be leaving,” she said softly.

  “None of you are going anywhere,” a deep, irritated voice said from behind her. She spun around to see Redmoore standing in the doorway of the room. He had his lips drawn back in a snarl and huffed.

  “Pesky, pesky little investigators. You should’ve minded your own business, but you never learn. That’s fine. I’ll make sure you do this time.” He cracked his knuckles and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He waved his hand over the door, and she heard a solid click as locks snapped in place. What the hell?

  Her eyes widened, and she backed up, only to bump into the table Leon lay on.

  “Hannah, come here.” Ian gripped her wrist and pulled her toward him.

  * * *

  Ian felt the power come off Redmoore like a smack in the face. He flinched and shoved Hannah slightly behind him. There was such a technological feel to Redmoore that being near him was almost like being around a computer. Maybe Ian’d be able to put that to use to get them out of here. He still wasn’t sure how to get Leon out, but hopefully, he’d be better able to figure that out once Redmoore was dealt with.

  Redmoore advanced with steady footsteps and glowered at them.

  “Why did you take Leon?” Ian asked, trying to keep Redmoore occupied with conversation. Maybe he wouldn’t be as insistent with their deaths if he played things right.

  Redmoore stopped and shook his head with disgust. “To send a message. Obviously, it wasn’t received. If you two wouldn’t have dug around in my business so much, then I’d be able to complete myself in peace, and you and your friend wouldn’t be in this sorry situation. Too bad.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Mr. Redmoore,” Hannah said. “You could let us go.”

  He snarled again and snapped his gaze to Hannah. “You know as well as I do that I can’t allow that. If you got away, you’d tell everyone that it was me. Chances are they would find out eventually, but no, that’s not in my plans. My carefully constructed plans, at least until you two ruined things. You made me accelerate everything too quickly.” He clenched his hands into fists and shook his head. “No, I’m going to get back on track. I’ll end you both, and then I’ll be able to continue my work.” He stepped closer again, and this time came to a jerking halt and stared at Ian in fascination.

  This didn’t bode well. Ian didn’t want the guy to be fascinated with him, but maybe that was better than him wanting to hurt Hannah or Leon. If Ian could just keep the attention on him, maybe he could figure out how to fight Redmoore.

  A tendril of power flowed over him like a probing test, checking out his power, examining his chips.

  Ian had never faced someone with a set of similar -- albeit a corrupted version -- powers. He’d grown up with his mother being a technomage, but it wasn’t something either of them talked about much. She’d have much preferred not to possess the powers at all. She highly disagreed with Ian getting as deep into the technological field as he had, pursuing a career that sometimes used his abilities. There was too much chance of him being caught and used like a lab rat.

  He knew this, but the ability to help others using his talent was well worth the risk, in his opinion. He slapped at Redmoore’s power with his own, wanting to get it away from him. Who knew what all Redmoore could pick up? He wasn’t sure, but from the look of giddy surprise, he must’ve found something he liked.

  Redmoore walked closer, so Ian struck out with his own power. He knew Redmoore had the bio-organs, and it seemed like he was integrating well to the tech, so maybe he could be used and blocked like a normal piece of tech. He’d never been up against someone so cyborg-like. The hospital was really going to have to look into the problems with the bio-organs, if they even thought about using them for the general public.

  His power touched Redmoore’s skin, leaving him with a sense of disgust. There was a sense of rotting and corruption slowly flowing out of Redmoore that almost made him coil back. Instead, he pushed forward, feeling the pulsating sensation of the bio-organs inside what seemed to be a rotting mass. Centering his power on the lungs, he pushed to the small stream of data flowing from them and pinched. The effect was noticeable. The organ seemed to quiet down and pause.

  He wasn’t the only one who had noticed the difference. Redmoore held a hand to his chest and looked up at Ian, smiling. To Ian’s horror, the data flowing from the lungs reactivated, and Redmoore took a long breath, as if enjoying every moment of it. “Very nice. However, did you think you were the only one who could control the organs with ease? You and I are not really that different, you know,” Redmoore said and lunged forward at him.

  Ian lashed out with his power, targeting Redmoore’s intestine, trying to shut it down, but Redmoore was on top of him, flailing at him with his fists, Ian’s cleaver on the ground barely out of reach. He was fast, very fast. But so was Ian. He threw his fist at Redmoore’s head, jabbing him hard in the face. Redmoore’s eyes rolled slightly, but came back into focus. But it gave Ian time to get Redmoore higher off of him.

 
; A sharp kick came from the side. Hannah kicked Redmoore in the back, near the spinal column, forcing him upward from his stable position. Taking the existing leverage, Ian pushed upward and sent Redmoore against the wall.

  Redmoore turned before hitting the wall. He balanced against it and smiled. “Good. Let’s get started,” he snarled and waved his hand.

  Feeling the power flowing from Redmoore gave Ian enough time to yell for Hannah to move out of the way. The shackles that bound Leon to the table released him. Rising sharply with a gesture from Redmoore, the shackles lunged across the room toward them like a large flail.

  Dodging in the small room was no easy feat, and while Hannah managed to get out of the way, Ian was hit in the shoulder, throwing him off balance. In moments, the shackle moved and clicked closed around him, pinning him into a fetal position.

  Hannah took aim and shot at Redmoore, missing by mere fractions every time. It seemed he was merely toying with her and the weapon she wielded. Redmoore strode forward and kicked Hannah on the knee, dropping her to the ground, her footing lost. The connecting kick followed upward, the knee closing on her face.

  Ian stared helpless as the knee got closer and closer, the shackles around him strangling him and making him useless. He pulled at them, trying to find a point of weakness so he could break free. To his immense relief, Hannah managed to shift her weight to the right. The knee barely missed her eye, scraping against her ear. She was falling toward the floor, turning as she went. Redmoore swirled and directed his focus on Hannah. He flinched as if unprepared for the gunshots that followed.

  The air was still for a moment. Ian could feel the sense of disgust flowing from Redmoore as he lifted his gaze to Hannah, pointing her gun at him. A silent click here and there told Ian she was still pulling the trigger reflexively. “You insolent, filthy meatbag. It took me hours to retrieve that intestine from the pathetic worm called Thomas Ingrid. You will pay,” the enraged murderer yelled, and kicked down on her ankle. A disgusting sound reverberated in the still air, followed by a scream of anguish from Hannah.

  “At least I have my other organs, especially the one I took from that bag of bones. Her call to you almost made me mess up my work. I had to hurry and couldn’t take as much time with her.” Redmoore sneered and spat as if disgusted.

  Ian could feel the hatred boiling inside him as he thought about the way Redmoore was treating his victims. For Redmoore, they seemed just temporary containers for the organs, ripe for the taking, with nothing of value lost. He cared more about a pathetic piece of technology than the life that depended on it. “You are nothing like me. You are corrupt and diseased,” Ian said, trying to reach for the shackles around him with his power.

  “No, I am becoming whole. You, out of everyone, should know. My body was failing me, the cancer spreading from one organ to the next, and thanks to my abilities, I absorbed the organs with ease, replacing this weak, pathetic flesh and becoming more of a walking god than a mere mortal.” Redmoore’s eyes glowed slightly, the sick, twisted inner light of a madman. “We are kings amongst weaklings, Ian. Power defines us and makes us who we are, and thus we are better than the men and women who cannot see, taste, or feel the power.” He turned his gaze to Hannah.

  Ian could finally feel the mechanism inside the chain, a small chain of nanites, with a singular controller. It seemed to have been formed from old electronics, nanite filaments, and pieces of plastic and metal, fused together with Redmoore’s power. Inventive, yes, but vulnerable to those who had similar power to the two of them. Focusing and overriding the chip, now that he knew where it was, took only a moment. He flooded the chip with his power, taking control of the chain and purging what remained of Redmoore’s influence on it. “God? You? You are insane. Didn’t that gnome in our apartment teach you any manners? Can’t you even process that there are things older and more powerful than you? A god, my ass,” Ian said and sent the chain flying toward Redmoore.

  To his surprise, Redmoore didn’t even flinch as the chain wrapped around him and locked closed. He smiled and forced his power out, breaking the links between the nanites holding the entire structure together, breaking it into dime-sized pieces that dropped heavily to the floor. “I see you need to learn respect,” Redmoore yelled as he strode over.

  Ian kicked out, barely missing Redmoore’s shin. Before Ian could get up, Redmoore was next to him, and with one massive punch knocked the air out of him. Trying to recover, Ian could feel that two of his ribs were at least bruised. To his surprise, Redmoore walked behind him and placed him in a stranglehold, forcing him to remain on the floor.

  He felt Redmoore’s pervading power enter his skull, penetrating what power he could muster to shield himself and activate his chips. His skull felt like it was on fire, and it felt like corruption was beginning to taint the chip. Memories he’d kept at bay flooded his head. He could feel Redmoore laughing behind him as his memories were gone through one by one, and his brain lit up with activity. His vision blurred, slowly becoming darker and darker until he could only feel the influence of Redmoore. Soon, even that was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  Hannah watched as Redmoore held Ian in a tight grip from behind, and while she didn’t know what was going on, Ian’s pained, distorted face left little doubt in her mind that they were losing.

  The pain in her ankle was horrible. Giving it a quick look, she could see that it was swollen, but still intact. Rising upward against the table seemed to take ages, filled with agony as she slowly but steadily climbed to her feet. Another clip, left pocket, she thought as her arm moved as if on its own, reaching for the vital ammo that might save them all. The old clip fell as she thumbed the release and slammed the new one in. Before the old one had fallen and hit the ground, she was already squeezing the trigger. She pulled it twice, aiming slightly to either side of her initial shot, trying to approximate where Redmoore would move.

  Redmoore lifted his gaze and focused on her, his eyes alert. Her aiming, however, gave Redmoore little choice than to get out of the way. Leaping toward the other side of the room, he dropped Ian on the floor. She could see one of the bullets hit Redmoore as he started his lunge, but it did little to stop him. She shifted her aim, but her ankle finally gave too much. Falling backward, she clasped the gun tightly, afraid it might drop.

  Her vision went white as intense pain surged upward from her right ankle. When her sight cleared, she noticed she still held the gun and scanned the room for Redmoore. A kick to her wrist sent the gun flying from her hand, clattering across the floor toward the door.

  “Now then, where were we?” Redmoore said as he stood next to her. In his arms was an odd-looking branding iron that was white-hot as if recently heated in a furnace. Small streaks of white trailed upward toward the handle, where Redmoore held it in a tight grip.

  She tried to move away, survival instinct kicking in. Tried to do anything to not be touched by that thing. Menace and dread emanated from it as Redmoore knelt and grasped her arm with his other hand. As much as she tried to flee, he pulled her closer. She reached and bit his hand, only to recoil as something acidic and sweet filled her mouth.

  “You bitch!” Redmoore struck her across the head with the branding iron’s solid grip. “Don’t you know how expensive it is to have your blood replaced?” Slightly bluish liquid dripped from his hand where she had sunk her teeth into his flesh. He slapped her again, causing her vision to go first white and then darker.

  She fought the darkness, knowing if she let go now, she was as good as dead. Her eyes rolled open as she smelled the steaming iron getting closer. Redmoore sat next to her, his injured right hand pinning her down, while pressing the hot iron toward her exposed stomach. She tried to squirm, but he overpowered her. She could feel the heat against her belly, despite there being still a few solid inches between it and her flesh. Bile rose in her throat.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cleaver swing down once, then again, against Redmoore’s side. Redmoore’s gri
p lessened, and she rolled aside, ignoring the pain radiating through her leg.

  Leon tried to swing the cleaver a third time, only to be backhanded by Redmoore against the table. Leon’s eyes closed as he slid to the floor. Redmoore rose up slowly, clutching his side. He ambled toward Leon. “Idiot! Now I’ll have to replace my left lung.”

  Gun, gun, gun. She crawled toward the door where her gun had gone. She could hear more than see Redmoore shuffling toward Leon behind her, getting closer to his prey every second. The butt of the gun peeked out from behind a small bench, and she crawled closer. Behind her, Redmoore paused as if he suspected something.

  “It’s no use to run, little girl. When I’m done with this filth here, I will find you,” Redmoore shouted, and she felt shivers run along her spine.

  Her fingertips touched and pulled the gun slightly closer. Two more pulls retrieved it, and she turned to Redmoore and Leon. Redmoore raised his foot above Leon’s head as she pulled the trigger, only to find the gun jammed. Hysteria threatened to choke her as she tried to dislodge the stuck bullet. Still, the click had bought Leon a few minutes to live, as Redmoore turned toward her.

  * * *

  The world around him was black, interlaced with the corrupted and thoroughly rusted scenery of his inner dreams. The dataflow around Ian stalled in the air, as if frozen in time. The location’s electrical heartbeat was nearly dead, clinging to its last. “This is no time to be dreaming,” he shouted to the uncaring environment that would fall apart at any given moment. He felt lost and unable to do anything. A small piece of blue in the distance drew his attention, and he ran toward it.

  It was a small piece of code that hung in the air. He could still remember when he had written it, when he had understood the full complexity and meaning of it and knew he could trust it. He had been seven, and his mother had shown it to him. The end of the code strand was slowly becoming rust-colored, and he shivered. Instinctively, he knew if he were to lose this one, it would all be over.