Chicken Fingers twirled a finger in mock celebration. “Easy peasy. This’ll be a stroll in the park.”
“You betcha.”
Gyro frowned as Chicken Fingers leaned forward, suddenly alert.
“Hear that?” he asked.
Gyro and Nova exchanged looks and shrugged.
“Nope.”
Chicken Fingers rose, one bolter already in hand. “Thought I heard something. You two stay here. Be right back.”
He ducked through the door with a flap of his jacket. Gyro half-expected gunfire to blast him to shreds, but the hall remained silent and he slipped out of sight.
Nova came over to put a hand on Gyro’s shoulder.
“You just know I’m trying to protect you, right? It’s not that I don’t think you aren’t smart and capable. This whole situation is just a few orders above what any of us is used to.” She leaned in to meet Gyro’s eye. “Once we’re out there, if anything gets too hot …”
Gyro huffed and shrugged off the hand. “Layoff the heavy stuff, Sis. I know what I’m doing.”
Nova eyed her dubiously. “Really?”
“Naw. Just makin’ it up as we go along. But at least it’s fun this way, right?” Gyro tapped the walls, looking for a pipeline, till she heard the telltale shift in the wall’s vibration in response to her tapping. She slid one of her trash tablets out of her bag and tapped a few commands into it. “Help me get this plate off the wall?”
Nova shook her head but walked over to the panel. She mouthed some words under her breath as she counted wiring staples on the trim, then snagged a remote out of the kitchen. After keying a couple buttons, the panel in front of Gyro slid back.
Gyro grinned. “Crafty! Ohhhhh … You have an arcology pass-through cable here!”
Nova studied her a little too intensely, so she turned away as she worked, not wanting to answer the inevitable questions. She pulled her splice pack out and plugged the tablet directly to the cable, simultaneously hitting execute with her other hand. The tablet glowed brightly then puffs of smoke drifted up from it and it made a loud popping sound. The tablet was fried.
“What just happened?”
“Well,” Gyro grinned and tossed the dead tablet, “we sent the message.”
Nova sighed again but didn’t offer further argument.
Gyro went over to the door and leaned out. “Yo, Chickie! You ready to scuttle? I want your big guns out front, ya hear?”
“It’s Chicken Fingers, you little sh—”
Gyro grinned back at Nova as she closed the door. “I think he really likes me.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Chicken Fingers
The three of them managed to go an entire block before the whole outing went to hell. Chicken Fingers took the lead, with Nova and Gyro coming in behind once he signaled it was safe. On the way down the stairs—no one wanted to brave the elevators—Chicken Fingers noted a few dark splotches and stains he hadn’t spotted on the way in. Observation was another key for survival on the streets.
Why would there be fresh bloodstains? He thought he had heard someone, but he hadn’t heard anything like the type of scuffle that would result in even minor stains. The little details and the way they didn’t add up niggled at the back of his brain, but he pushed them aside, figuring he’d just been distracted while trying to get to a safe hole. Still, his eye was usually pretty keen …
When they emerged onto street level, he scanned up and down their exit corridor plus the rooftops on either side of the street. Always look up, he reminded himself, especially on such a cramped street where there were plenty of perches and lookout positions people could take advantage of if they had a sniper scope or optical zoom in a cybernetic socket. Staring at the empty balconies and shuttered windows was still kind of creepy.
He shook his head. This day was getting to him. The place looked disconcertingly clear for the time being. Chicken Fingers didn’t like empty streets. They never were actually empty, and it just meant people were biding their time, waiting for the right prey to slip along before trying to stomp on them. At least earlier, when dealing with the violent mob, he had been able to see where the threats came from.
They eased along the road, sticking to the south side. Chicken Fingers was crouch-walking low enough that he had to keep jerking his trench coat off of trash and debris. Nova had them aiming for a sewer maintenance access at the edge of Melrose Park about half a mile northeast. The access point served a double purpose and would also get them into a portion of Coffin City, Chicago’s subterranean metropolis. Coffin City was growing fast, with constant expansion into abandoned subterranean areas that kept adding hidden tunnels and chambers to the underground infrastructure every month. Chicken Fingers had been down there enough times … and every time he went down there he swore he wouldn’t do it again. He’d take the underground party scene over actually being underground any day of the week.
This Billy Black Eyes better be as good as they were saying.
As he thought this, a mini-supernova went off behind his eyes. Chicken Fingers went to one knee, fist pressed to his forehead. Gravel scuffed as his companions hurried over to him.
“What’s wrong?” Gyro whispered.
Nova blinked a couple of times, then shook her head. Chicken Fingers stared up at her through watering eyes, wondering why it wasn’t hitting her as hard as him this time.
“We’ve been getting little future flashes. Neither of us knows why, but that’s what he looked like the last two times.”
“Cool.” Gyro’s eyes went wide—and Chicken Fingers narrowed his eyes back at her while he panted—but she kept asking questions. She needed to know everything if she was ever going to tell this story the right way … and get rich off it. “So when Prophet said that it made predictive quantum models of the future it could give us during the X class flare, this is what it meant?”
Nova cocked her head to the side. “Gyro, all of those words were English, I know, but somehow I still completely failed to understand that sentence.”
Chicken Fingers straightened and drew his second bolter as the details coalesced in his mind. “Damnit. I knew it. I hate empty streets. They’re always a damn ambush. Three groups. Triads, I think … I don’t see their Enforcer though. They’re gonna open fire in about five seconds. You oughta let me handle this.”
Both of his companions dropped down behind the car next to them and pulled out pistols. Gyro’s eyes flared blue, and a thin light between her iris and pupil—the same he had spotted before—started glowing. He shook his head as he swung behind cover himself. That girl recorded everything. The three of them had been passing a curio shop offering the latest lines of cheap plastic junk. The door hung open, lock and one hinge snapped off. He motioned to the shop, and both of them scurried inside.
Semiautomatic fire opened up right after Chicken Fingers lunged in after them. Faux wood splintered and the walls vibrated as more and more fire tore up the entry of the shop. The front window shattered moments later, spraying glass across shelving. Nova lay flat, crawling toward a low counter that split the room in half, pulling Gyro along. Gyro was on her side, eyes fixed on the destruction raining down on the shop. It looked like even now they were arguing.
“Gyro,” he barked. “You promised her you’d do what she said and I need her help. Get your ass behind cover now!” He turned and snapped a couple shots back through the door, not trying to hit anyone but rather just to discourage them from following them in.
Chicken Fingers ran low across the destroyed shelves of curios, then slid behind the same counter Nova and Gyro had finally reached. More fire tore apart the walls. He tried to make sense of what little his future flash had shown him. Two … no, three groups of gangers had set up in a triangle position fifty feet from each other. Three gangers per position, each armed to their eyeballs. If he hadn’t been given a warning, the three of them would’ve been mowed down where they stood.
A brief lull settled over the shop. Voi
ces yelled in Chinese outside, and the firing resumed. The nonstop barrage made it impossible to speak, despite the women sitting with their backs against the counter right beside him.
Stay here, he mouthed.
Gyro wrinkled her nose at them, but nodded as she pulled a little 3D printed pistol out of her pocket.
Thrusting off one leg, Chicken Fingers rose into a hunch and threw himself through the doorway behind the counter. Wood and plastic shards exploded by his head, and he rolled down and through into a small storeroom. Nova fired out the front door, peeking over the countertop as she backed in behind Chicken Fingers.
Gyro seemed to know what to do. He heard her squeezing off the occasional round.
Not wasting any time, he lurched to his feet and sprinted past stacks of boxes and equipment, Nova right beside him, and both bolted out into the back alley. The Triad gangers would be closing in on the shop front, maintaining fire to keep the three people they thought were in there pinned. With Gyro occasionally firing, they wouldn’t dare actually breach the shop, which gave him and Nova a few precious seconds to flip the ambush on them.
He took a corner and raced down another alley, coming back out onto the main street a couple hundred feet from the shop they’d just been in. They were directly behind one of the three Triad groups. Three men squatted behind an abandoned delivery truck. Two had their backs to him, focused on the shop, while the third waited with a shotgun and watched the opposite way. His eyes widened as Chicken Fingers and Nova appeared.
Chicken Fingers lodged a bullet in the man’s brain before he could even get the shotgun up. Nova split off to the left and threw herself down, rolling under a car and aiming her gun at the shop front. Chicken Fingers focused on the two in front of him, confident Nova would take out anyone that got past him and actually tried to breach the shop. One Triad didn’t even notice his companion go down, continuing to rattle off bursts at the shop front. The other, though, whirled and began firing wildly at Chicken Fingers.
Chicken Fingers didn’t have to guess. He knew where the shots would go, and he spun and ducked as he came in, letting them whiz past, inches away. A shot snagged his jacket, and he repaid the damage to his fashion sense by turning the shooter’s eye into a miniature crater.
The remaining Triad finally caught on that everything wasn’t right and spun around. Chicken Fingers painted his brains across the hood of the truck. That’s what he got for getting tunnel vision.
He took up their now emptied position right as a shotgun blast rocked the truck. The other Triads must’ve spotted him taking down their buddies. At least this meant a few muzzles pointed his way rather than at the kid in the shop.
Three down, six to go. Chicken Fingers swapped out one bolter magazine for a set of frag rounds that would splinter in flight. Not as accurate long-range, but nasty up close. He peered under the truck. One set of feet ran his way. A single frag round from below blew out the man’s legs from the kneecaps down.
As that sucker rolled, screaming and bleeding out, Chicken Fingers pushed up and dashed out around the back of the truck. Nova fired a series of rounds from her hidey-hole, laying down cover fire for him. A shotgun shell turned pavement to black powder in front of him. He tracked the line of fire back to its source and racked off a shot without even looking.
Another scream and lack of further shotgun blasts meant that either his wild shot had worked, or Nova had landed a shot. Either way, yay team Chicken Fingers! He lost no momentum as he vaulted a fallen motorbike, rolled between two cars, and came up with bolters aimed where he gauged the last member of the second group to be. A couple vending machines had been shoved into the street, forming a barricade. He stayed right in the open, evening out his breathing, fingers a twitch away from firing. Pavement sparked around him as bullets miraculously missed him. He spoke a single word, softly enough to put venom into it, but loud enough to ensure he was heard. “Coward.”
With a cry, the third Triad jumped up from behind a vending machine, assault rifle spitting rounds. Chicken Fingers put three shots into him as something smacked him hard in the chest. Sky and street tumbled in his view. He rolled to a stop and realized the front of his shirt was on freaking fire! He swatted at it, then weakly pushed himself up to his knees.
Shots still rang out, but not at him. Nova was keeping the last group busy, buying him time to recover his wits. Chicken Fingers looked down at his chest. That assault rifle … dragon’s breath? His armored vest was totally visible beneath the tatters of his shirt. Oh well. He shook his head and scuttled forward, recovering his bolters.
Primed and ready, he looked for the third group. He finally spied movement down near another pile of crashed cars. Dead men shooting, even if they didn’t know it yet.
Chicken Fingers studied the street, trying to figure the best route to the last group—when their firing cut off. He crouched in the unexpected silence, ears ringing, pulse pounding. Were they repositioning? Trying to trick him?
“You good?” Nova asked.
“Yeah,” he answered, focused on his ears, not on his mouth. He edged along, listening intently, keeping low as he advanced on where he’d last seen the third group. Bolters readied, he whipped around one corner.
The three lay dead, weapons scattered.
Baffled, Chicken Fingers bent over to study the bodies. He certainly hadn’t gunned them down. Closer inspection revealed one had his throat slashed wide, another had a puncture wound direct through the heart, and the third had both arms slit open from elbow to wrist. All of them had tattoos of a dragon’s eye wreathed in smoke and flames on either their cheeks or throats.
“Chicken Fingers!” A shot rang out.
Something wrapped around his throat and jerked him backwards. With a sinking certainty, he realized he had just found the Triad Enforcer. For the second time in as many minutes, he went ass over teakettle. As he flew through the air, struggling to breathe, he saw a Chinese woman wearing a traditional gray frog-button jacket, holding the end of the chain whip wrapped around his throat. He jammed one of his bolters against his own chest and grabbed the chain with his other hand, catching it between his palm and his second bolter, as he landed.
The ground bitch-slapped him into breathlessness, but he managed to keep his wits enough that he slid the chain over the bolter pressed to his body. He pulled the trigger of the bolter. The chain’s link he had pulled taut against the barrel of his bolter shattered in a mini shower of sparks. A shard of metal flew across his cheek, opening a wide gash.
“Oh hell no!” Shots rang out as Nova charged forward. He saw that she now held a pistol in each hand as he lay on the ground. Everything hurt too much to move, though he did struggle unsuccessfully to rise.
The Chinese woman was flipping, dodging Nova’s shots. She spun the shortened chain whip around her as she moved, the undamaged end’s blade occasionally shooting out and forcing Nova to dodge as she tried to close with the woman.
A couple times Chicken Fingers, in his haze, thought he saw the chain flick out and intersect throwing knives. Was he just too wobbly or was Gyro joining in? What the …
Nova snapped her leg down as the chain came hurtling at her and caught the blade in her calf. Rather than falling, she was already springing forward, flipping through the air. The chain wrapped twice around her leg and, as she landed, she snapped her other foot down on the weapon, catching it securely. Both of her pistols barked.
The Triad woman pulled once against the whip during Nova’s maneuver and quickly realized she had lost control of the weapon. She dropped the chain and did a handspring backwards to dodge Nova’s shots, but it was too late. The second shot hit her in the shoulder and she lost her balance. It was only a second for her to recover, but that was enough for Nova to start closing with her.
Nova moved forward, momentarily ignoring the injury to her leg as best she could, dragging the chain whip behind her. Alternating pistols, she kept a steady stream of shots firing. Chicken Fingers tried to help her, but he
couldn’t seem to get his hand to obey orders and point his bolter at the woman. His vision was starting to go dark around the edges.
As the two closed, the Triad pulled a wicked-looking knife out of her sleeve and lunged forward, slashing at Nova’s face. But Nova had once again predicted the movement. She dropped into a roll, flinging the pistol in her left hand away and grabbing the chain connected to her leg as she rolled under the slash. She bounced up, flicking the chain and wrapping it around the woman’s wrist. Nova spun to the side and ducked behind her opponent, jerking on the chain as hard as she could. The woman’s arm was pinned across her body, and Nova emptied her magazine into the small of the woman’s back.
Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth as a red stain spread across the gray of her jacket. “Charon will not let you survive this night. He will rain hell down upon you for your role in helping his sister.” She fell to the ground, dead.
“What the fuck is she talking about?” Nova limped as fast as she could to her friend and unwound the chain from around Chicken Finger’s neck. Blessed air rushed into his lungs. His vision started to clear almost immediately. “Thank you,” he managed to gasp.
Shakily, he got up and helped Nova limp into the shop. Even Gyro was silent, eyes wide, as she wound a bandage around Nova’s calf, then they got moving again, heading towards the sewer access.
Chicken Fingers mused. The throwing knives … the three with the cut throats … As they moved deeper into Chitown, Chicken Fingers kept one eye roving for the hidden blade.
Chapter Twenty-four
Charon
The world belonged to Charon. This had been established as immutable fact. All data belonged to him, and everything was data. Even the humans and their offshoots, with their flesh bodies, could be broken down into basic chemical reactions. Complex systems, yes; but with a whole world of processing power available, Charon could control whatever system he wished.
He. What an amusing concept to generalize one’s identity according to gender divides. Charon wondered why he thought of himself as such. He had no grounding in the biological realm, and yet he reverted to this nomenclature quite automatically.
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