BOUNDLESS
A Bounty Short
by J.D. Cunegan
Copyright © 2015 Jeff Cunningham
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
I
Jill Andersen was glad the left side of her face was made of metal.
Otherwise, the shards of glass raining down around her would have hurt far more. As it was, her face stung after smashing against the window. A large hand tugged on the back of her black leather bodysuit, yanking Jill away from the plane glass. A gust of wind rushed into the high-rise office. Her assailant tossed Jill across the room and her back slammed against the wall.
A framed photograph fell to the floor. More shattered glass. Jill was back to her feet by the time her attacker drew close again. She ducked as his left fist punched a hole into the wall, her own fist socking the man in the stomach. He doubled over with a grunt before Jill wrapped her arms around his neck and flung him face-first into the rough carpeting. She pulled off his ski mask as he struggled to get back to his feet. Tossing the mask aside, Jill grabbed the man by his collar and lifted him off the floor.
Jill’s hair hid most of her face, though her infrared left eye shone in the dark. “Alright, fuckface, you’re paying for that window.”
The man’s red beard was close-trimmed, his eyes impossibly blue. He wrapped his hands around Jill’s arm and tugged. Gritting his teeth, the man put every bit of strength into freeing himself from this mystery woman’s grip. Her arm never budged. She stood in place, a light grip on the back of the man’s black fleece pullover.
Jill was decked out head to toe in black leather and matching combat boots. A layer of silver mesh armor laid under the leather, and Jill wore black gloves that went to her elbows. A katana was strapped to her back. During the day, she wore her brown hair up in a ponytail, but when she wore this outfit, she let her hair hang down over her face.
Not only did it add to the mystique, it helped keep her true identity hidden. The metal eyeplate on the left side of her face, running from her cheek to her hairline, also helped. The infrared sensor and the tiny supercomputer embedded in her brain were the proverbial icing on the cake.
“I know what you did,” she said, tightening her grip. The man’s legs swung back and forth, not unlike how her brother would have swung his legs when they visited the Inner Harbor as children. While Jill wanted so desperately to leap into the Chesapeake Bay in those days, Brian would sit on the edge of the pier and swing his legs.
“Doesn’t matter,” the man growled. He was projecting as much bravery as he could muster, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away. He was scared. Not necessarily of Jill, but of whoever he was taking orders from.
Some part of Jill, perhaps her vanity, was insulted. If this man was going to borderline piss himself, he should at least have the decency to be afraid of her. What was the point in blowing all that money on a costume and an identity if it didn’t strike fear in people?
This get-up wasn’t cheap.
“Kill me if you want,” he added. “You’ll never touch him.”
“Kill you?” Jill scoffed. “You’ve never read Batman, have you?”
“I have.” The man grinned and rammed the sole of his boot into Jill’s knee. It buckled and Jill lost her grip, stumbling back as he dropped to a knee and pulled a gun out from beneath the waistband of his jeans.
By the time he was upright again, Jill had found her footing. She spun on her heel and kicked the gun out of his hand. Her momentum brought her to a full three-sixty before she trapped the man’s arm against her side, twisting until his elbow dislocated.
He howled in pain and crumpled to the floor before Jill’s boot smashed into his nose. The blow knocked the man out cold, blood oozing from his mouth and onto the carpet.
Gathering her breath, Jill pressed her finger against her left temple, bathing her vision of the abandoned office space in infrared light. Other than the damage the battle had caused -- broken glass and various blood stains in the carpet -- the space was none the worse for wear. A door slammed behind Jill, and she whirled around to see six men in Black Ops gear with high-powered guns pointed at her. Jill’s heart skipped a beat and she raised her hands.
Six red dots converged on the center of her chest. Her infrared eye glowed in the dark; were it not for that burst of red, Jill would be almost invisible. Between her bodysuit and dark hair -- to say nothing of her black lipstick -- the costume was stealthy as it was form-fitting. So form-fitting, in fact, that Jill was still having a hard time moving in it from time to time. This sort of thing hadn’t allowed her to go on many practice runs, and maneuverability was still an issue.
“Um… hi, guys.”
The man farthest to Jill’s right crab-walked to the unconscious man. He dropped to a knee and pressed two fingers to the man’s neck before removing his heavy night-vision goggles and nodding to the others. That the man was still alive seemed like good news to the other men, but they never moved or lowered their weapons. She stared at the guns; they looked like modified M16A2s.
Jill’s heart pounded in her chest and her arms were starting to get sore. She didn’t dare lower them, though, because any movement would likely make them pull their triggers. Tough as Jill was sure her armor was, she wasn’t sure it could handle automatic military-grade weaponry.
“You know I didn’t kill him,” Jill said. “So why don’t you just let me walk outta here and you guys can still hit Happy Hour at O’Shea’s?”
Two of the men flanked out to Jill’s left, while two others took position to her right. Then stood equidistant from one another, trapping Jill in a perfect circle of heavy-duty firepower. The one remaining soldier lowered his weapon before hoisting it on his back again, turning off his night-vision goggles and taking them off. He tossed them to the floor and approached Jill with a smirk, camo paint on his cheeks noticeable in what little moonlight spilled through the broken window.
That look only added to the macho military man cliché, complete with impossibly square jaw and close-cropped haircut. He stood in front of Jill and clasped his hands together behind his back, raising his chin.
Jill fought the urge to roll her eyes. “At ease.”
“Funny, you don’t strike me as the military type.” The man pursed his lips, hazel eyes focusing on her eyeplate. “Unless the rumors were true. So tell me, what’s your name?”
Jill tilted her head ever so slightly, and none of the men holding her at gunpoint could even tell that her head moved. Her infrared eye shone directly at the military man standing before her, and Jill was impressed when he didn’t flinch.
“You first.”
“My name doesn’t matter,” he said, even as he wore a nametag that read Riggins. That probably wasn’t his real name, but it was something. “Let’s just say… when Special Forces can’t get the job done, me and my men are the ones they call.”
“Off the books, unlimited budget, no accountability.” Jill nodded once. “That about right? You do Uncle Sam’s dirty work?”
“Uncle Sam can’t afford me.” Riggins was in Jill’s face now, close enough that the smell of his cologne almost made her gag.
“Really. So who can?”
“Certainly not the flunky you just sent to Dreamland.” Riggins smirked. “What is this? I spill all my secrets and you keep quiet? Nah, doesn’t work that way.”
“My options are kinda limited at the moment.”
Riggins gave one more nod and the other four men all lowered their weapons. Jill slowly brought her hands back to her sides, and they immediately balled into tight fists. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see their comra
de dragging the unconscious man away. Jill wanted to say something, to get the man to stop, but there was no telling when the others would raise their weapons again.
The adrenaline from her earlier fight had worn off, and the left side of her face was starting to hurt. More than anything, though, Jill wasn’t that keen on discovering whether or not she was bulletproof.
Instead, she was hoping Riggins would do or say something foolish, because she was itching for another fight. What she really wanted was answers, but if Jill had to crack a few skulls open to get there, then so be it.
“One veteran to another,” Riggins said, “who are you?”
“You know, I haven’t actually thought of a name yet. But I’m open to suggestions.”
Riggins’ hand wrapped around her neck, and every fiber of her being screamed for her to retaliate. But there was no telling how quick the other men could draw their weapons again; if they were as good as Riggins suggested, she would be riddled with bullets before she could think to move. She clenched her jaw and stared into Riggins’ eyes, her fists tightening even more. A rush of anger filled her with another jolt of adrenaline.
“I don’t know who you think you are, or what you think you’re trying to accomplish,” Riggins said, “but you’re not gonna win this. You have no idea what you’re up against.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Before Riggins could react, Jill headbutted him, the sound of metal slamming against skin distracting the other men as Riggins dropped to the floor and cradled his forehead with both hands. He writhed on the floor in pain, blood oozing out from between his fingers. Jill twirled to her left, ducking a punch from one of the other men before grabbing and breaking his wrist.
He screamed in pain, and Jill flipped over him just as the other man who had been on her left drew his weapon. The man with the broken wrist served as Jill’s shield. The trigger suppressed and three bullets tore into his protective vest. None of them pierced his skin, but the force sent him reeling.
Jill tossed her human shield aside before bum-rushing the man who had just opened fire. She tackled him to the ground so hard that he lost his grip on his weapon. The gun skittered several feet away. The two remaining men drew their weapons, but by the time they opened fire, Jill had leapt away and ducked into the shadows.
The resulting gunfire peppered the carpet surrounding the man who had just been tackled, and a stray bullet hit him in the right leg. He screamed and clutched his thigh; the bullet had hit an artery, resulting in a geyser of red.
Oblivious to their comrade’s suffering, the two men stalked along the open space, flipping on their night-vision goggles. Jill was behind them by this point. She stepped out of the shadows, the broken window to her back. The full moon cast a long shadow that caught both men’s attention, and they whipped around to open simultaneous fire. Jill lunged to her left to avoid the barrage of bullets before tucking into a barrel roll.
By the time she was on her feet, Jill drew her sword. She was on both men before they could react, one swipe of her blade slicing through their guns and rendering them useless.
But the force of the swing caused the katana to dig into the floor, and Jill couldn’t immediately extricate it. That allowed one of the men to tackle her to the ground. Jill hit the back of her head on the floor. The carpet offered little protection and she grit her teeth in pain before the man’s fist bashed in her nose.
He was far heavier than she had anticipated, and Jill couldn’t pry him off of her. The man got in two more punches, breaking Jill’s nose before she caught his right fist. His eyes widened when Jill squeezed her fingers around his knuckles. She clenched her jaw and twisted her hand until his wrist snapped at a ninety-degree angle.
He cried out in agony and fell to his left. Jill hopped back to her feet with a huff before an unseen force drove her face-first into the floor again. The momentum of the fourth man tackling her sent them both careening toward the broken window. By the time they stopped, Jill’s head was hanging over the ledge. Shards of glass dug into her back, and the wind was whipping her hair so violently that she could feel it in her scalp.
She spat blood onto the man’s face before reaching up to peel off his goggles. They fell to the sidewalk as Jill’s thumbs pressed against his eyes. He grunted in response and wrapped his hands around her neck. His thumbs pressed against her windpipe. Jill gasped and pushed her thumbs even harder, digging into his sockets.
They struggled for what felt like forever, and breath was so hard to come by that Jill could see spots in her right eye. Her mouth opened with a wheeze. She bucked under the man as best she could, but he was as heavy as the man who had broken her nose. Jill needed more leverage, more strength -- and that was getting harder to come by as her air supply was being cut off.
A gunshot burst in the office. Before Jill could gather her bearings, she could see blood oozing from a hole in the man’s forehead. He slumped off of her and fell out the window. Hoisting herself upright again, not keen on taking her own express trip down twenty stories, Jill stood in time to see Riggins pointing an M9 at her. Last remnants of smoke fluttered from the barrel, and Jill rose her arms again.
“Just you and me now.” Riggins smiled and tossed the gun to the floor. “As it should be.”
“Whatever happened to never leaving a man behind?”
Riggins shrugged. “We did things different in my unit.”
Riggins was on Jill before she could fire back a retort, and she barely got out of the way of his right fist. The sudden movement made Jill dizzy. Her nose throbbed, as did the back of her head. Apparently, a titanium-enforced skull didn’t protect her from concussions. Still, her adrenaline kicked in again, and the next time Jill ducked Riggins’ fist, she responded by punching him in the stomach. Riggins doubled over. Jill smashed her left knee into his chin. Blood splattered onto the carpet. Riggins fell to his back.
Jill walked off to fetch her sword, pulling the blade from the floor and sheathing it. She turned back around in time to see Riggins swing at her with a dagger, barely leaping out of the way. In fact, it was so close that the tip of the blade sliced away the leather on her left side. It hadn’t reached the armor -- and even if it had, Jill was safe. But the dagger was impressive, the blade at least seven inches long.
Jill could see her own reflection in the knife; clearly, Riggins took good care of his weapon. Which said so many things about him.
Riggins swiped at Jill again, but she parried the blow aside before grabbing the back of his head and tossing him across the room. The blood on Riggins’ forehead had dribbled down the side of his nose and was starting to dry; the fact that he had just face-planted against the wall would surely result in another cut.
But Riggins got back to his feet, clutching his dagger and gritting his teeth. He took a step toward Jill, but his right knee buckled. Jill looked down and saw it was bleeding. Riggins must have slammed it against the wall when she threw him. The pain sent Riggins down with a pained grunt, sweat mixing with blood on his face.
“This was fun,” Jill lied. “But if you don’t mind, I’ve got other things to do.”
“You stupid bitch… you have no idea what you’re up against.”
“So you’ve said. But see?” Jill crouched in front of Riggins, shaking her head. “You told me you were more badass than Special Forces, and yet… I just handled five of you. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not scared.”
Jill turned and headed toward the door leading out to the stairwell. Before she could grab the doorknob, though, a stabbing pain in the back of her left leg brought her down with a groan. Jill glanced back in time to see the dagger buried in her thigh, the handle caked in blood. When she looked up, she saw Riggins’ face contorted into a disgusting grin.
“You’ve got five minutes to get out of the building,” he boasted. “That’s how long it will take reinforcements to get here. You really wanna know who’s pulling the strings? Stick around.”
Jill pulled the blade out
of her leg with a grunt, almost falling flat on her face because of the pain. She stared at the blood dripping down over the weapon, swallowing hard before yanking the door to the stairwell open and hobbling across the threshold. The heavy metal door slammed behind her and it was all Jill could do to get down the first couple steps. She grabbed the rusty railing and hissed at the pain throbbing in her leg. By now, she had four and a half minutes… at best.
Each step was more painful than the last, and after three flights, Jill realized she was better off letting her right leg take the brunt of the pressure. A titanium skeleton was great for absorbing blunt force and avoiding fractures, but she was apparently as susceptible to flesh wounds as she had been before Project Fusion.
She could feel the blood running down the back of her leg, cursing herself for ordering mesh armor that only went to her waist. Then again, her salary had only allowed for so much, and recent events forced Jill to suit up sooner than she had anticipated.
The pain almost made Jill sick. The blood loss, and the exertion, had sweat running down her brow. Jill had lost count of how many flights of stairs she had taken, and she didn’t know how many of those five minutes she had left. Her body screamed for her to stop, to lean against the wall and catch her breath, but there was no time. Jill’s luck, the second she leaned against that wall an army would burst through the doors and take her out. Riggins had given her a reprieve, and while he did so not expecting her to make it, Jill wasn’t going to go out like this.
Not in her first go-round.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jill pushed through a heavy exit door. She paid no mind to the alarm that blared throughout the building, instead propping herself against the wall and lumbering along the sidewalk.
At this late hour, the streets of Baltimore were barren. No tourists, no locals enjoying everything downtown had to offer. Jill hated the fact that she was leaving a blood trail as she turned the corner. Something told her the place would be overrun with cops in the morning, and she hated the thought of her DNA strewn about everywhere.
Boundless: A Bounty Short Page 1
