Herokiller

by Paul Tassi

  Aria looked nervously at Mark. Ethan and Moses conferred among themselves. Manny turned and saw them. The burns on his face made Mark cringe involuntarily.

  “Rise up, friends!” he called out, waving the axe. “Free yourself from the bonds of tyranny! We cannot live in the chains of false gods!”

  “Hey, man,” Ethan said, extending his hand. “Just calm down and—”

  Ethan was interrupted by the whine of an electric engine. A dark SUV slid on the gravel and dug a trench through the nearby grass as it skidded to a stop. The door flew open, and a figure sprang out of the back seat like a released caged animal.

  Wyatt Axton stomped toward the circle of guards with fury in his eyes.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” he asked. Though the scene was pretty clear. “No one has a goddamn tranq on them? Jesus Christ.”

  “We put two in him already,” one guard offered. “But—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Martinez!”

  Axton pushed past two guards who couldn’t get out of his way fast enough. He wore a tac vest with no shirt underneath, which showed off arms like bundled steel cables. There was a submachine gun slung across his back and a Desert Eagle on his hip, but he made no motion to equip either.

  Manny pointed the bloodied weapon at Axton.

  “Behold, the servant of the beast! The white dragon emerges from the lake of fire!”

  Axton didn’t slow his gait at all. He marched straight up to Manny who immediately swung the axe toward his temple. Mark flinched out of instinct, but all four of them were rooted to the ground.

  Axton ducked under the swing and slammed his fist into Manny’s stomach. Seemingly immune to pain, Manny swung again and again, Axton weaving out of the way much more quickly than a man of his heft normally could. He struck back with targeted punches that should have floored Manny, but now Mark understood why the man had probably won his qualifier. Nothing fazed him.

  But even more impressive was Axton himself, who moved with robotic speed and precision. Finally he grabbed the axe itself and ripped it out of Manny’s hand. He spiked it into the dirt, blade first, and turned back to the wildman in front of him. Manny leapt at him, but Axton caught him by the shirt collar, and wrenched him down so his face crashed into Axton’s knee. Even if he seemingly couldn’t feel pain, biology simply shut his brain off, and he crumpled to the ground unconscious.

  “Get some more sedatives in him immediately!” Axton roared. “And someone double check his meds. Whoever was in charge of administration is getting thrown in the fucking desert. And you, bunch of idiots standing around with your dicks in your hands. Ten of you couldn’t take him? You had to interrupt my morning coffee? Everyone here is losing a week’s pay.”

  None of the guards said a word.

  Axton stalked past them as the guards converged on Manny. He glared at Mark and his group as he passed, and then disappeared behind the black glass of the SUV, which sped away back toward the main mansion.

  “Remind me never to mess with that guy,” Ethan said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Mark realized he couldn’t keep ignoring the fact that Wyatt Axton was going to be a problem.

  20

  WE HAVE HOOKS INTO Glasshammer,” Mark said later that night, chatting to Brooke on the S-lens. “We can’t get him transferred, reassigned?”

  “No way,” Brooke said. She had the hood up on her Yale sweatshirt and looked like a parody of a hacker. Bits of curly blonde hair poked out the sides of it. “Do you know how many flags that would raise? You do not want to stir the pot and try to pry this guy off Crayton’s personally assembled detail.”

  Maybe not, Mark realized. He rubbed the backs of his arms. The rest of the day had been spent playing with more weapons in Wing C, and by the end, everyone had pretty much made their pick. Despite being in relatively good shape, he could already tell his body would be screaming tomorrow.

  “I see what you’re saying,” Mark said. “But if there’s anyone that’s going to find me out, or catch me looking somewhere I shouldn’t, it’s him. And something tells me I wouldn’t just be tossed out of here. I’d wake up with my throat slit. You read what he did in Africa.”

  “Allegedly,” Brooke offered.

  “Bullshit, allegedly. I know we have those records.”

  “If you’re thinking we blackmail him, that’s going to go poorly for everyone.”

  “Ah, forget it,” Mark said, closing his eyes and making his lens HUD disappear. “I guess I’m stuck with him. I just need to stay off his radar. Fortunately I wasn’t the one who went crazy today and almost killed a guard. Who is that guy anyway?”

  “Did some digging,” Brooke said. “His real name is Manuel Varkas. Served five tours in Afghanistan, was on the ground for the Iran Incursion too. Did some hush-hush shit. Supposedly found a stash of chem weapons in a bunker somewhere and something went wrong in disarmament. Nerve damage and healthy dose of PTSD messed him up real good. He burned through his vet benefits and has been living on the streets for years. Entered the Crucible with quite literally nothing to lose, and he’s managed to hang on to at least pieces of his spec ops training, it seems.”

  Nerve damage. Explained why it looked like the man couldn’t feel pain. And his face, of course.

  “Poor guy,” Mark said. “Deserves better than this.”

  “That may be,” Brooke said. “But be careful. He may not be an evil prick like those Prison Wars assholes, but he’s clearly a hazard.”

  Mark couldn’t disagree.

  “Oh, I’ve got something you’ll like,” Brooke said, fiddling with her flexscreen out of his line of sight. An image popped up in a new window opposite her video feed.

  “What is this?” Mark said. He squinted to zoom in.

  “It’s the full blueprints for Crayton’s compound. Every inch, updated through the last six months. I hacked his contractor’s servers and pulled all the files.”

  All four mansions, all the grounds. The detail was exquisite.

  “This is perfect,” Mark said. “Great job.”

  “And it gets better,” Brooke said. “Ta-da”

  On cue, hundreds of little blue dots populated the blueprints like stars. Inside, outside, on the walls, everywhere.

  “Cameras,” Mark said. “You did it. You got into the network.”

  “I’ll credit Gideon’s Langley team for doing a lot of that heavy lifting, but yeah, we’re in. I can show you where every camera for Heroes and Legends is. I can show you the cameras Crayton doesn’t want you to see. And I can turn them off and loop them if need be. You can pretty much have the run of the place now, if you can avoid live human beings.”

  Mark quickly jerked his head left and right.

  “There aren’t any in here, right?” he said.

  Brooke shook her heard.

  “That much he was being honest about. Thank god. If not, you’d probably have Wyatt Axton breaking down your door as we speak.

  “Don’t joke about that,” Mark said, slightly chilled.

  “Anyway,” Brooke continued. “Your first target should be Crayton’s office. It’s right in the main manor on the third floor. I’m sure it’s locked up tight, but if you scope it out, we can get through it.” Brooke’s eyes narrowed and she put her finger on her lip. Mark practically saw a tiny lightbulb ignite over her head. “I’ll try to get into Glasshammer’s comm link network and maybe do a trace on the guards that way. More little dots for your map that you can avoid.”

  “Thanks Brooke,” Mark said. “You’re really kicking ass out there.”

  Brooke came dangerously close to blushing.

  “I did some of it, but Gideon helped too. I hear even McAdams is pitching in bodies to help with the back-end work. I think that Exoware info perked their ears up a bit.”

  “Whatever works,” Mark said. Crayton was starting to feel a bit less untouchable.

  “How’s Carlo?” Mark asked, upset with himself he’d forgotten to ask until now.

&nb
sp; “The same,” Brooke said, her eyes lowering. “But they’re hopeful. Don’t worry, he’s in good hands.”

  It was too easy to get sucked into Crayton’s fantasyland. Mark had to stay focused, and remember why he was doing this in the first place. Drescher wasn’t the only person responsible for Carlo’s coma, after all.

  Mark couldn’t sleep, so he decided to creep up to the third floor and scope out at least the exterior of Crayton’s office. In the dark, the place was a maze, but rather than have Brooke turning on and off cameras and trying to eye guards for him, Mark simply acted like he was going to one of the manor’s libraries that was a few doors down from Crayton’s office.

  It was indeed hard to avoid running into maids and valets and security personnel whenever he turned a corner. Actually breaking in was going to be something else altogether, and would require a lot of help from the outside.

  Finally, Mark reached the third story and slowly passed by two double doors joined by a pretty heavy-duty-looking e-lock. He casually glanced at his phone as he passed and pulled the data from the lock itself with the press of a button. Brooke could analyze it later and hopefully build him a key.

  He kept walking and decided he should actually stop by the library on his way back to keep up appearances. Maybe even read a paper book for nostalgia’s sake. He pulled the large door open and jerked to a stop.

  A robe-clad Chase Cassidy was sitting on a long, leather couch behind a table filled with piles of books. Opposite him, sitting exceptionally close with her legs draped over his, was Soren Vanderhaven, wearing a pair of sweats and a T-shirt that looked oddly chaste. When she saw Mark in the doorway, her head jerked toward him like a babysitter who had just been caught having her boyfriend come by. Surprise transformed into a strangely intense rage in her eyes, but then that too melted away, and she forced a beauty queen smile, and put her hand over her mouth, the picture of supposed embarrassment. Cassidy merely grinned.

  “Sorry,” Mark said, feeling he’d almost certainly ruined a very specific kind of moment. As he backed out of the entryway, Cassidy gave him a quick wink, while Soren was now glaring through her tight-lipped smile. Mark closed the door slowly. As he did so, he saw a camera drone hovering above the pair of them.

  Mark sent the lock data to Brooke, and while he should have been planning his infiltration, he couldn’t stop thinking about the Crucible itself. Despite his best efforts, he was actually strategizing, trying to figure out who might fare the best given the new addition of weapons to the equation. He spent a good deal of time doing research on his flexscreen, and figured that at least a few combatants could probably handle weapons well.

  Moses was the obvious choice, as he was more of an expert than the actual experts Crayton had brought in to instruct them. Ethan showed surprising skill with the sword and shield, despite having no previous training Mark could find in his bio. That wasn’t something taught in the Special Forces, he knew that much.

  What worried him a bit was that he dug up an old Chase Cassidy movie called Shogun Rising where he played a white samurai in Japan. The film had trained him extensively in the use of the katana, the same kind Mark had seen him wielding earlier. Granted, prop fighting was different than real-life combat, but Mark had underestimated him before, and here Cassidy was, having proved himself after getting legitimately bloody in the ring.

  In college, Soren Vanderhaven had been a baton twirler (of course she was) in addition to her gymnastic pursuits, and was probably the most coordinated person in the compound, so her ability to quickly pick up this style of fighting was assuredly second nature.

  Mark was more confident that fighters like MMA-expert Dan Hagelund and boxer Asher Mendez would struggle un-learning everything they knew in order to wield weapons. Though he had seen Mendez practicing with some kind of spiked fist weapon the previous day, which meant he could possibly figure out a way to adapt.

  Out of the Prison Wars group, all Ja’Von Jordan’s murder charges were firearm related, and Drago Rusakov mostly crushed people to dust with his bare hands. But Easton, the serial killer, had shown incredible skill with shivs in Prison Wars, which had racked him up six kills on the show in addition to the dozens of women he’d scalped. And lord only knew there were a million different kinds of knives to choose from in Crayton’s collection. Mark itched his scars. He hated knives. He already hated Easton. He secretly hoped this mission went on long enough to see him dead.

  He checked the time.

  Shit.

  He was late.

  “HELLO MR. WEI!” ARTHUR Stemkowski said as Mark crept into a room that looked unlike any other in the mansions. There were no elaborate murals or finely carved furniture in there. It was a lab, through and through. It looked like a cross between an auto body shop and someplace where scientists were trying to cure cancer. There were giant machines with purposes Mark couldn’t fathom, but also microscopes and fridges full of test tubes. Arthur’s small frame was dwarfed by the machinery that surrounded him. His floor-mounted computer terminal was quite a bit taller than he was.

  “Hi,” Mark said. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No worries,” Arthur said. “The next appointment isn’t for a while yet. Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?”

  “With the weapons? Sure. It was definitely interesting.”

  “And am I right in having pulled this weapon as the type you’re interested in using for the Crucible?”

  Arthur gestured to the bastard sword Mark had spent the better half of the previous day swinging around. Moses had told him it was the genuine article, at least five hundred years old. Thankfully, he’d managed not to break it, despite Ethan’s best efforts when they were sparring. But he’d notched up the blade pretty badly, he realized.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Mark said. “And a knife too, if that’s possible.”

  “Of course,” Arthur said, nodding eagerly. “I like the selection. It’s a very flexible weapon, and a good size for your build. I’m thinking carbon steel. Nothing more durable, and it’ll be razor sharp.”

  “You’re the expert,” Mark said. He noticed a few camera bulbs in the ceiling.

  “But today is really all about armor,” Arthur said. “Have you given it any thought?”

  “A bit,” Mark said. He wasn’t lying. He was spending far too much time thinking about this kind of stuff, he realized. “I want to be mobile and ventilated above all else, but still protected. Can you do that with a full suit?”

  Arthur nodded excitedly.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “So no ‘land tank’ loadout for you then?”

  “Are people doing that?” Mark asked, eyebrows raised.

  “A few,” Arthur said. “Some of the … larger gentlemen. But with the bulk of that much protection, they’re sacrificing speed. However, the opposite is true as well. Miss Vanderhaven has requested a very … unique armor set that will certainly be, uh, mobile and ventilated, shall we say. But rest assured yours won’t be styled the same way.”

  Mark could only imagine what that was going to look like, given her previous fighting ensembles.

  “And one individual,” Arthur continued, “has actually refused armor altogether.”

  Mark was incredulous.

  “Seriously? Who?”

  “Ah,” Arthur said. “I am remembering now that I was told not to gossip. His eyes flitted toward the camera. Let’s just focus on your own suit, shall we?”

  Arthur flung up his hands and conjured a three-dimensional display on an enormous monitor in front of him. Different pieces of armor plating appeared, and, as he waved his hands around like he was conducting an orchestra, the various pieces flew across the screen and connected with one another.

  “Pauldrons … here, reshape a bit. Breastplate … heat reflective.”

  Mark could only make out part of what he was muttering. Every so often he was asked for his input about which piece he liked or didn’t. Or how much weight he was willing to sacrifice for flexibility. It was enough to m
ake his head spin.

  “Oh,” Arthur said, his eyes widening. Mark could see at least a dozen different readouts on the S-lenses covering his irises. “I almost forgot. How would you like your symbol integrated?”

  “My … symbol integrated?” Mark repeated.

  “You are …” Arthur checked a readout in his lens. “The wolf, correct?”

  “Yeah,” Mark said. “But what do you mean?”

  “In the spirt of proper, uh, branding, Mr. Crayton has requested that your symbol be integrated into your armor in some way. It can be a pattern, a logo, Actually, I can forge you an entire wolf’s head helmet if you like. That would look terrifying!”

  “Uh, no thanks,” Mark said. “I have to?”

  “Those are my instructions,” Arthur said, growing a bit nervous that Mark was resisting.

  Mark really couldn’t care less about making a fashion statement or helping Crayton sell T-shirts. He threw up his hands in surrender.

  “You know what, I’ll leave it up to you, man,” he said. “Just no wolf helmet. And don’t give me like, a tail or anything.”

  Mark could see the wheels turning in Arthur’s head.

  “Alright,” he said. “I may have an idea. You won’t get your armor and new weapon until the tournament is about to start, but I’ll assign you training gear that should mimic its weight and feel well enough. The delay is regrettable, but I have to build sixteen of these, after all! Well, fifteen, thanks to, uh …” he trailed off before he said the name. Mark could not imagine who would turn down armor in a competition like this.

  They spent another solid hour mixing and matching plating before Arthur saved the build file.

  “I believe it is time for my appointment with your compatriot, Mr. Callaghan.”

  “My compatriot?” Mark asked.

  “Oh I forgot, you do not watch the show. Yes, well, Heroes and Legends seems to indicate that you and Mr. Callaghan have something of a friendship, do you not?”

  Arthur sounded a bit forlorn, like he was unfamiliar with the concept.

  “Uh, yeah,” Mark said. “Couple of the folks here are good people. He’s one of them, I guess.”