“Won’t they hear us coming?” Davidoff asked.
“No,” Zeke shook his head. “It’s a fairly standard layout for the game. It seems to be in my data banks to have this info… The lift can go all the way to the top, or it can stop twenty feet shy where there’s a maintenance shaft. If we can get in there, I can hack the system and get a map of the place. We’ll take it from there.”
“So, basically you’re R2-D2?” Davidoff asked, laughing cynically and smiling despite himself.
“Yep,” Zeke nodded, smiling back. “And that makes you C-3PO, buddy.”
“Oh dear!” Davidoff said with a grin.
He had hope once more. If Zeke could navigate them through the maintenance tunnels, they could probably blow the place without ever having to fight. They could likely sneak in and out without anybody noticing. The first time that the warlocks would be aware of their presence here would be as they were blown sky high.
“Great,” he said. “Do you think you can rig the lift?”
“Of course,” Zeke nodded. “It’s what avatars like me were designed for. Under normal circumstances, rigging the lift would be part of another mission, still to infiltrate the warlocks’ castle. The base coding is still in place; there will be a way to do it without being detected.”
“Then show me the way, buddy,” Davidoff replied, stowing his telescope and standing up. He squared his shoulders and set his eyes to the rocky cliff faces, ready enough for what was to come.
Zeke stood up beside him, threw his rifle back over his shoulder and nodded to the west. “It’s just around here,” he said, leading onwards.
***
There was a bare stretch of rock face that they came to after a short jog around the peak’s perimeter. High grey granite walls rose before them, rugged and rough. There was a man-made structure hewn into it. From the outside it looked like a small, iron hut, riveted together and butted up against the mountainside. A heavy metal door stood closed, with a keypad next to it, and wire fencing enclosed the whole lot.
“The lift is just inside,” Zeke said, looking left and right from the cover of the trees. They would have to dash out and stand, exposed and open, whilst they cut through the wire fencing and then hacked the keypad to unlock the door.
“Do you think it’s safe?” Davidoff asked, also looking.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Zeke shrugged. “But it’s our only option. We’ll have to make a run for it.”
So saying, he dropped his rucksack, stooped over it and brought out a pair of small, solidly heavy wire cutters, zipped up his bag once more and threw it back over his back, nestled in snug against the body of his rifle. “We both go on the count of three. Once we’re there, you’ll have to cover me,” he said, and Davidoff nodded.
They ran out, sprinting as fast as they could. They slowed down and slammed up against the wire fence, turning their backs to it and glancing both ways. The coast looked clear enough, though Davidoff’s heart was hammering in his chest.
Zeke set to work, snipping through link by link of the fence, doing so quickly and with deft motions. Davidoff, catching sight of his friend every so often, could not believe that such large fingers could be so dexterous. However, he could not spend time marveling at Zeke’s work; he kept his eyes peeled, scanning the surroundings nervously. There was a hundred yard gap between the forest and their stretch of land before the peak’s side, and they were completely out in the open. Were any warlock to spot them, he would have to dispatch them quickly or else they would sound the alarm.
“Come on,” Zeke said after a couple of minutes. He had managed to cut a hole up to his waist from the ground. He crawled through on his hands and knees, catching his bulky backpack a couple of times but nevertheless making it through. Following him, Davidoff crouched down and jogged through, glad to be past the first barrier.
Next up, they had to stand before the little metal hut’s door, as exposed as ever. Zeke took a screwdriver from his belt and set to work. Within sixty seconds, he had the front of the control panel off, exposing the wiring. He then took out his wire cutters and a few other tools that Davidoff did not recognize. Meanwhile, Davidoff kept his handgun at the ready, silencer in place, with his fist closed tight on the handle.
“Come on, come on,” he whispered to his friend.
“I’m working as fast as I can, here,” Zeke snapped back. He was sweating lightly with the stress as he reworked the electrics. “But it’s a bit more complicated than hotwiring a car. I reckon that in the real game this would have been a real challenge. Like this it’s—”
But before he could finish his sentence, Davidoff spotted a movement in his peripheral vision. It was to the left and he whipped around, his gun in his hand aiming in midair straight away. In the same motion, he drew his machete with his other hand, preparing to fight.
A small boy was walking towards them, smiling innocently. He looked like a caricature of a perfect little nineteen-fifties schoolboy: seven years old with blond hair and rosy cheeks. He wore shorts and a woolen sweater. His hair was neatly parted and combed until it was flawless. He had smart, stout little leather shoes on his feet and a well knotted tie at his throat, dipping down beneath his sweater’s neckline.
He walked towards them and passed through the hole in the fence, barely ducking. “Hello, there,” he said in an alarmingly chipper voice. “What are you doing? You look very naughty. Must I tell mother?”
The little boy halted before Davidoff. Behind him, Davidoff could hear that Zeke had stopped moving too. They were both entirely still, completely tense, and unsure how to act. Whatever this boy was, it could not be good, but Davidoff could not bring himself to aim a gun at the child’s head.
“Dav—” Zeke began, but then both players were thrown backwards.
They crashed into the hut’s front wall hard and Davidoff felt his ribs crunch. He hit the door itself, side on, so that his left arm took the brunt alongside his ribs—it went entirely numb before he fell to his feet.
Looking up, Davidoff saw the boy standing still, smiling at them with his hand outstretched. His fingers were open, but as Davidoff watched he closed them. Immediately, Davidoff’s throat constricted. I’m C-3PO, Zeke’s R2-D2, and now we have Darth Vader force choking us, he thought as his eyes popped and dimmed.
However, Zeke managed to emit a strangled cry from next to him. A large shape moved and the sound of something being slapped rang out. Davidoff’s windpipe opened once more. He sprang to his feet, his improved reflexes standing him in good stead, and saw Zeke sprawled out at the boy’s feet. The boy himself was staring down at Zeke, curious, as Zeke struggled to stand. He had tried to attack and had clearly come off worse as the boy threw him down easily enough. The big man was dazed and had been brought down to 452 / 498 HP by the blow.
It was enough, however. Zeke had distracted the boy. The child was too sure of himself, of his powers, and he did not press his advantage. Rather, he seemed interested at the hold he had over these two strange, player-led characters. In the few short seconds that followed, Davidoff lunged forwards, bringing his machete up in a low to high swipe. Its blade caught the boy under the chin, sending him sprawling with half his jaw hanging off and blood splattering everywhere.
The boy hit the fence and steadied himself, blood gushing from his gaping, wounded mouth. Davidoff had brought him down to 119 / 168 HP, a devastating blow indeed, but the boy was pissed now. He raised his hand once more and Davidoff felt something squeezing in around his stomach, around his ribs, around his lungs themselves. Slowly, he wheezed and took a couple of hard, laborious steps towards the boy. His own HP fell by ten, then twenty, then thirty points… but finally, as his eyes seemed to pop and his vision darkened around him, he reached the boy. He had his machete held high, and he swept it down with all his might.
Its blade crunched into the boy’s skull, embedding itself deep in the grey matter of his brain as the young warlock died, instantaneously.
The pressure released, letting Davidoff go. Davidoff breathed fully again and staggered to one side, suddenly free. He let go of the handle of his machete and caught himself against the fence. Behind him, Zeke was groaning but pulling himself to his feet. “Get that door open,” Davidoff wheezed. “Before anyone notices that this little brat is gone.”
As Zeke finished his work, opening the hut’s door with a satisfyingly heavy click, Davidoff approached the boy’s corpse. He took a hold of his machete’s handle with both hands, placed the sole of one of his thick boots on the boy’s chest, and pulled the blade out with a sickening squelch. The blade was blunted slightly from the impact—it had lost 3 points from its Damage characteristic.
Never mind, he thought savagely to himself as he turned around, pulling the boy’s body with his free hand. He dragged it into the hut and then wiped the damaged blade clean on the front of the boy’s sweater. Then threw the body into a corner, hidden as well as possible.
As long as the explosives do their job, it shouldn’t matter how sharp my damned blade is, he thought, inspecting its once keen edge. Though, as he stared at the blunted dent, he felt different. It was still always best to have a sharp blade to hand.
Zeke managed to work the elevator easily enough. He directed it to the service tunnel using a little keypad built into its metal wall. As they went up, juddering a little as the rusty systems shuddered back into life, Davidoff brought out a whetstone and began lathing it along the machete’s blade. Soon enough, its Damage characteristic had risen back by 2 points until it was almost as good as new. He eyed it when he was finished and smiled, satisfied at his work. It was sharp enough once more and it would serve him well if they got into any bother.
“Best leave the elevator in place,” Davidoff said as he sheathed the blade once more and put his whetstone away. “We might need it in a hurry for our escape.”
Zeke nodded, shutting the elevator’s grate but leaving the carriage itself in place. As he did so, Davidoff peered about. The tunnel was solid, barefaced rock with relatively smooth, eight foot high walls, a floor of iron grating and roughhewn ceiling. Electric lightbulbs flickered every few feet, casting a dingy glow, and the whole place looked deserted.
“Give me a minute, though,” Zeke said. There was a computer panel next to the elevator controls and he plugged a USB device into it. Next, he rattled his fingers over some of the keys and smiled as his avatar took over, hacking the systems easily enough.
He removed the USB stick, turned to face Davidoff, and tapped his forehead. “The map’s up here now,” he said. “I know my way around; I can see it all. And more importantly, I can see the best spots to place the explosives. There are three locations we need to set them. They’re structurally integral to the whole building and, if we put the charges right, they will collapse, bringing the whole lot down.”
“Perfect,” Davidoff said. “What’s the plan, then? Where are these points, and how easy is it to get to them?”
Zeke explained it all to him. There were two thick pillars on the first floor, one on each wing of the building, which bore much of the weight of the upper two levels. If they could blow them up, the upper levels would cave in on themselves. “We’ll do these first, then head down to just below the dome itself,” Zeke said. “There’s a spot in the basement level that will do the most damage. We can set the bulk of our explosives there. It will shatter the whole structure as it all tumbles in, like pulling the rug out from someone’s feet, you know? There won’t be a wall left standing, and all the warlocks inside will be crushed to death.”
“Can’t we just do the basement?” Davidoff asked. “If the foundations are blown, should the whole lot not come down?”
Zeke shook his head, weighing the idea up in his head. “No,” he said. “It will partially collapse, for sure, but it won’t be entirely ruined. And I don’t know how badly we have to damage it for the mission. This way, everything will blow at once. Nothing will be left standing and everyone inside should be annihilated. I think it’s the only way to be sure of success.”
“Fair enough,” Davidoff replied. “Lead on, then, buddy.”
They set off, jogging quietly along the service tunnel until they came to an iron ladder drilled into the wall in a more open space than the rest. The ladder led to a platform in front of a doorway twelve feet up. “The first floor is out there,” Zeke told him. “Then we get to the basement through a set of stairs from there, back down again.”
“This place is like a rabbit warren,” Davidoff grumbled. They would have to constantly go up and down, up and down, it looked to him.
“Don’t complain, though,” Zeke smiled, setting himself on the ladder’s first rung. “The power’s down up there. Everything but the emergency generator has been cut off. So, there will be lots of nice dark corners for us to hide in. The more complicated, the better, now I have got my map.” He placed one hand above the other, climbing, and then Davidoff followed.
The door opened into a nice, dimly white corridor. The lights were indeed mostly down, but a few blinked on. The overhead bulbs were all dead, but green ones glowed in alcoves every so often. Everything else was dark and shadowy. Perfect indeed for creeping around in. Davidoff kept his silenced pistol at the ready.
They followed a couple of slim, low-ceilinged passages out from the various servitor areas and then emerged onto a relatively open, spacious corridor where, presumably, the academic staff who worked in the building before the apocalypse did their work. There were three warlocks ahead of them as they turned onto the corridor, and Davidoff put his arm out hastily, pushing Zeke back into the shadows. He put a finger to his lips and drew his kukri. Zeke understood the plan and took out his telescopic baton, flicking it to full extension.
The warlocks were standing, talking animatedly, about thirty feet away. They had not yet noticed Davidoff and Zeke. They had their backs turned and were clearly engrossed in their conversation.
The two friends took a few seconds to take the warlocks’ measure. They were all dressed in smart clothes. One was a woman in a long trench coat, tied elegantly at the waist. She wore heels and her hair was cut short. The other two were men. One wore a pale grey suit and glasses, the other was in just a shirt and jeans, but his shirt was immaculately pressed. Though he knew that they were just AIs designed to look this way, their appearance still angered Davidoff. He, Zeke and Mara had been climbing through mud and blood all day; they each had scars stitched up and they had been through several sets of clothing, and here their enemies were, smartly dressed, living in comfort.
He gestured for Zeke to go to the left whilst he went to the right, and then he whispered, “Run on my count. Three, two, one…”
They both rushed in as fast as they could, while trying hard to stay relatively quiet. If the fighting was heard anywhere, then they would have the whole place piling on top of them before too long, and they were painfully aware of this fact the whole time. They could not use guns, aside from Davidoff’s silenced pistol, and they could not shout nor could they give anyone they came across any of the time they needed in which to raise the alarm.
The warlocks turned when Davidoff and Zeke were about ten feet away, hearing their footsteps at last. Davidoff, the faster of the two by a wide margin, pulled ahead. He had not wanted to shoot from farther away as he was not confident he could kill all three before they had time to react—not using his ranged accuracy, at least, and not with the relatively poor accuracy of such a small pistol.
He was on top of the first warlock within seconds, however, ready for action. He barreled into the man in the grey suit, barging him over. The warlock fell heavily against one of the walls. Davidoff wasted no time. He immediately leapt from one side to the other, zigzagging as he closed in on the woman. He leapt in the air and kicked her fully in the face, sending her tumbling backwards even as Zeke caught up, crashing through the other man.
Leveling his pistol as she fell, Davidoff shot
the woman in the chest, causing blood to blossom all over her nice, smart clothes. However, she was up on her feet again in a matter of seconds, her eyes flickering with a ghostly light as she regarded her opponent.
Zeke recovered his balance quickly, having barged through the other two with full force, sending them both flying as Davidoff had the woman. Now, he bent down and cracked the man over the head with his baton. It was a terrible, squelching noise and the man was laid out instantly, unconscious. Zeke bent down and struck once more, not wanting to leave any survivors. The man died on the spot, his head stoved in by Zeke’s great strength.
Meanwhile, Davidoff jabbed the woman in the nose with his left hand and then swung in with his kukri. Zeke crossed behind him, pushed the man in the grey suit up against the wall and set to work, lost to Davidoff’s sight as the woman got over the nasty gash he had just opened across the side of her head and began to fight back.
He swiped with his kukri once more, the blade aimed at her exposed throat, but she ducked, impossibly fast. She stepped back, gliding, barely seeming to have to try and not at all affected by her injuries. She was down to 67 / 192 HP, but moved like she was fresh and unhurt.
She tried to sidestep him, making the most of her grace and speed. Davidoff was fast himself, however, and he lunged forwards, feinting with his kukri. She went to dodge, but instead of landing the blow Davidoff turned and flipped over her, landing behind her. She turned, her eyes alight now. The same ghostly glow that permeated her eyes now played around her finger tips as she raised them, ready to unleash whatever power she wielded fully into his mortal body.
He too was fast, he too was agile. All he needed to do was cut her throat, now, which he thought he could do with ease, sliding past her and opening her jugular with a quick swipe of his blade. However, she stepped out of the way as he swept in and then raised one hand, ready to blast him.
Ghouls'n Guns Page 20
