Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4)

by Camille Picott

  “Leave Sulan out of this,” Gun says. “This is between us.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Claudine flicks her wrist.

  One merc detaches from the main unit, flying toward me.

  “Gun, no!”

  He says nothing. He doesn’t move as the mercs close in on me.

  No way am I going down without a fight. I leap straight at the nearest merc, plowing into his stomach. He grunts, flying backward as I deliver a string of punches to his ribs. His wings flap as we fall off the cloud and plummet through the stars. I grip his belt and get another punch into his ribs.

  Another merc swoops in and grabs me around the waist. He pulls. I scream in frustration as my grip on the first merc loosens. The two men beat their wings, slowly pulling me free. My vinyl jumpsuit creaks under the strain.

  I dig my nails into the first merc’s belt, but it’s no use. They’re too strong. I make an inarticulate sound as I’m pried away. I twist around, swinging a fist at the new merc. My angle is off and I miss.

  “Sulan, let it go.” Gun’s voice cuts through the frenzy. “It’s okay. This is my fight.”

  With a sound that’s half snarl, half grunt of defeat, I stop resisting. Clasping me about the waist, the merc flies back toward the cloud. He stops beside it, holding me in one arm like I’m an oversized doll. Claudine rises in the air, pink wings fluttering primly.

  Gun stands in the center of the cloud surrounded by winged cybermercs. Every last one of them is armed with a Decoder. Despite the fact that he’s outnumbered twelve to one, he looks calm. He meets my eye and winks.

  “You can still let me go,” Gun says to Claudine. “It will be better for everyone in the end, especially you.”

  Claudine sniffs. “You’re afraid,” she says. “You don’t want Miss Hom to know who you really are. You’re afraid it will affect the influence you hold over her.” Her eyes narrow. “She will see you fully exposed. As will I.”

  And with that, the cybermercs close in.

  “Get out of here, Gun!” I shout, struggling against my captor. “Just leave!” He may not be able to get out of Vex, but he can still leave this site.

  “Quiet,” Claudine snaps, her pink wings vibrating with annoyance.

  Gun ignores me and remains crouched. I recognize his fighting stance, although he doesn’t move as the cybermercs near. Why won’t he go? He must have other sites where he can hide.

  He doesn’t even flinch as the first Decoder catches him in the side of the arm. A stream of silver light arcs into him.

  His avatar cracks in half like an egg. The sturdy teenage boy with the shaved head falls away, revealing a skinny, pimply boy with close-cropped blond hair.

  I stare at the awkward boy, my captivity momentarily forgotten. This must be the boy Claudine found when she originally investigated Gun. He’s gangly and ugly, no doubt about it, but he has the same intense blue eyes.

  As soon as this boy is revealed, an answering crack of code lances out from Gun. It zips up the baton and jolts into the merc. The merc’s eyes start melting like gobs of wax. The man drops the Decoder and staggers back, clawing at his eyes. He can’t feel any pain in Vex, but the sudden blindness is disorienting.

  I have no idea what sort of Black Tech this is, but I immediately understand the intent of its design. Gun has booby-trapped his avatar, loaded it with countermeasures for attacks like this.

  Within seconds, the cybermerc disintegrates and disappears—no doubt roughly ejected from Vex.

  Gun has one less enemy to deal with. Now I understand why he isn’t running. He doesn’t need to run.

  “It’s only going to get worse,” Gun says to Claudine. “One last chance to call off your boys.”

  “Take him down,” Claudine snaps.

  The mercs surge forward, Decoders in hand. All I can see is a flurry of black wings. I crane my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Gun.

  Flashes of silver code fill the air. Several mercs fall back, their bodies melting away. A hole in the melee opens up as several avatars disappear, and I see Gun—or at least, a version of Gun. This avatar is a tall, thin man with thick brown lamb chops.

  More flashes. Three more avatars shed off Gun in rapid succession. There’s an Indian man in a blue suit, followed by a man-sized rooster with a bow tie, followed by a replica of Einstein.

  It all happens so fast my eyes can barely track the changes. The only thing that remains consistent is his bright blue gaze.

  A feeling of dread swells inside me as I watch. Even though I want to know the truth behind Gun, another piece of me wants to hide from the truth and my own stupidity. Whatever the truth is, it’s going to hurt.

  Only four mercs remain. They circle Gun, who now looks like a cross between a pirate and a cowboy. As a unit, the mercs close in like a boa constrictor. Four Decoders hit him at the same time.

  Gun’s body lights up as code pours into him. More avatars shed off him in rapid succession. A dark-haired refugee. A bulky mercenary. A caterpillar with a machine gun on every leg. There are so many avatars, all of them shedding away in rapid succession, I can’t track them all. The only feature that remains constant is the eyes. Gun’s familiar blue eyes never change.

  As he stands there, transforming before my eyes, a steady stream of code arcs out of him and barrels into the mercs. One by one, they begin to melt. Their hands, the initial body parts to come in contact with his Black Tech defense system, are first to go. They turn into lumpy stumps. As they do, the Decoders fall silently to the cloud below. Black Tech races up their arms and across their bodies, each of them dissolving into formless black goo.

  Within seconds, the last of the cybermercs—except the one holding me—are gone.

  Stray code from the Decoders sizzles across Gun’s avatar. He continues to shed various identities.

  “Fascinating,” Claudine breathes. “He went to such lengths to hide himself from us—and you.”

  This last part is directed at me. I want to look away, to hide from whatever is at the center of all this. Yet I can’t peel my eyes away.

  At last a middle-aged man stands before us. His gray-brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Like all the previous avatars, this one also has the same blue eyes.

  Nothing else happens.

  Is this Gun? Is this who he really is?

  The avatar gives one final shudder. The ponytail man sloughs off like dead skin, disintegrating when it hits the cloud. Another man stands before us.

  And this time, I know I’m looking at the real Gun.

  Seconds ticks by. I stare. Gun stands straight and tall, meeting my gaze without flinching.

  His real avatar is similar to the Axcent he’s worn in the Cube all these months—except for two prominent features.

  “You—you’re black,” I say. “And old.”

  “I’m twenty-two,” Gun says. “And I’m biracial.”

  He has the same shaved head, the same broad shoulders and muscular stature, and the same blue eyes. But his skin is a smooth chocolate. His features are leaner, more defined, and his nose, which had been bold and straight, is wide and rounder. There’s something familiar about him, like I’ve seen this real Gun somewhere before.

  “You,” Claudine says, her breath coming out in an angry hiss.

  Gun ignores her, his eyes never leaving mine. “Sulan,” he calls.

  That’s when I notice his clothing. Gone are the familiar loose black pants and simple white T-shirt. His body is molded into a dark green bulletproof jumpsuit. Embroidered on the left breast is the Anderson Arms logo.

  That’s when I realize exactly who Gun is. If he had dreadlocks and skin of a darker hue, he would be the younger version of William Anderson—the owner of Anderson Arms.

  “You’re his son,” I whisper. “William Anderson’s son.”

  Gun gives a small nod. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Short Stuff.”

  I can almost imagine regret and sadness flicker through his eyes. Almost. I can barely proces
s this new information.

  Gun is William Anderson’s son. The son of Global’s biggest rival.

  I sag in the grip of my captor.

  His flattery, his friendship—I bought it all, hook, line, and sinker. I didn’t even make him work to gain my trust and friendship.

  Something inside me breaks. Gun was never my friend. There is no Gun. There is only William Anderson’s son.

  I was his assignment. That’s what he’d said. His employer’s assignment. He’d been lying about that, too. I could almost forgive him if he was an actual employee of Anderson Arms. But he’s not. He’s an owner. A family member.

  Claudine gives an inarticulate shriek. Her arm lifts. A giant green snake shoots out of her pink jacket. It flies straight at Gun like a spear.

  Almost casually, he raises his hand in response. Cupped in his palm is a small mirror. The head of the snake hits the mirror and shatters into a thousand sparkling bits of code. It ricochets and arrows back toward Claudine. As it does, the code reforms back into a green snake.

  It all happens so fast. Claudine doesn’t have time to react. The snake barrels into her, wrapping around her like a vise. She writhes and screams, her wings crumpling in the grip of the serpent.

  “You never could let go of a grudge,” Gun—or whatever his name is—says.

  My winged cybermerc tosses me aside and rushes toward Claudine. I land in a heap on the edge of the cloud. I get to my knees, staring at the scene unfolding before me.

  Claudine twists and shrieks in the grasp of the snake. The creature—obviously some form of Black Tech—twists tighter and tighter, refusing to let her go. Even as the merc tries to help, her body crumples like an aluminum can, bits of code flaking off in swirls of glowing white. Her windpipe is crushed, cutting off her scream. The snake grinds down, pulverizing her avatar, until at last only bits of code remain. The snake burps loudly, then disintegrates.

  The cybermerc swears, then disappears from Vex.

  And then there is only me, Gun, our cloud, and the stars surrounding us.

  I swallow, staring at him. I want to scream. I want to pretend the last ten minutes never happened.

  “Short Stuff.” He steps toward me.

  “Stop. Don’t come any closer.”

  He sighs, extending one hand as if we’re meeting for the first time. “My name is William Gunther Anderson, Junior. My close friends call me Gun.”

  I look up at him—at Gun Anderson. At the semi-familiar face covered with smooth, dark skin. Those bright blue eyes, the one part of him that isn’t different, look back at me. I do not shake his hand.

  “I may look different,” he says, “but you know me. What we have is real. I wouldn’t have come for you at the League auction if what I felt wasn’t real.”

  I ache inside—ache from his betrayal and from the loss of everything I knew as Gun.

  “What—what did you do to Claudine?” I ask.

  “She’s been devoured by a Constrictor. For most people, a Constrictor will destroy an avatar and wipe out data on all connected hardware, but in Claudine’s case …” He shrugs.

  I narrow my eyes. “In Claudine’s case what? What happened to her?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “You really don’t know?”

  I shake my head.

  “Claudine is—was—computer code. After her accident, her consciousness existed in Vex only. The code that was Claudine has been destroyed by the Constrictor. She’s gone.”

  My jaw drops. “You—”

  “She released the Constrictor,” Gun says. “I merely turned the Black Tech back on her. Listen to me, Sulan. Claudine knew you and your friends were planning to sneak into Vex with homemade tech. The only reason they didn’t put an end to everything sooner is because Claudine wanted to get to me. She and Reginald Winn have probably been monitoring your every move.”

  His words click into place. He’s telling the truth about this. Claudine did set me up. She freely admitted it.

  And now she’s gone. Killed by her own Black Tech.

  Killed by Gun.

  Hank was right. I should have stayed out of Vex.

  “Mr. Winn might kill me.” I swallow. “Gun, I …”

  He takes me by the shoulders, turning me so that I have no choice but to face him. “Listen carefully to me,” he says. “You’re way over your head. I didn’t realize you knew so much about Project Renascentia. You must assume Reginald is aware of the information you have. He likely would have intervened sooner if Claudine hadn’t been hell bent on using you as bait to catch me.”

  “Mr. Winn is part of the League, too?” I ask, eyes widening.

  “No, Short Stuff.” Gun’s mouth tightens. “Claudine and Reginald aren’t with the League. They are the League. You have to get out of the Dome. Now.”

  THE END

  Sulan

  Episode 4: Touch

  Sulan

  Episode 4: Touch

  By Camille Picott

  www.camillepicott.com

  Published by Pixiu Press

  Windsor, CA 95492

  Copyright 2018 Camille Picott

  For Mom, Dad, Chris, and Kylah

  Without you, I'd have no stories to tell

  1

  The Dimple

  William Gunther Anderson, Junior, learned the power of the dimple at a young age. He got his first car with that dimple from a much older woman who had no business flirting with him. When Gun flashes his dimple, all roads open for him.

  William Anderson, his father, also perceived the power of Gun’s dimple early on. He tutored his son in the art of deception and flattery, steering him in directions that benefited Anderson Arms. Gun, for all that he had taken upon himself to hone his skills and cultivate his playboy image, considers himself a well-trained dog.

  He once used the dimple to charm his way into the trust of a corporate rival’s daughter, then promptly hacked the family’s company security system and stole data on all their contracts. The girl—he can’t even remember her name now—never suspected, although she went ballistic when he broke up with her. His father chalked up the episode as collateral damage. Gun never let on how bad he felt about it.

  The dimple gets him invitations to exclusive parties and rides in private jets. It gets him extravagant gifts, everything from fine wine to hand-tailored clothing to, yes, even cars.

  There had been exactly three cars.

  The dimple only failed him once in his twenty-two years. It wasn’t the sort of failure one looks back on with a grimace and forgets about over time; it’s a colossal failure he can’t escape, no matter how much time passes and no matter what he does.

  Even though Gun broke up with said failure over three years ago, the women’s bitterness didn’t fade. He thought her accident—the grisly result of him blowing her off at a party over a year after they broke up—was the culmination of an unhealthy obsession. He’d been wrong.

  Very, very wrong.

  • • •

  That failure now stands in Vex before him and Sulan. Said failure is dressed in a pale pink business suit with matching feathery pink wings. Her dark-winged cybermercs fan around her like petals of a gothic flower.

  Claudine Winn.

  Brown hair falls in a perfect cascade to her shoulders. She looks prettier in Vex than she ever looked in the real-world, despite the generous retainer fee she paid her plastic surgeon. Or perhaps it was because of that retainer fee that she’d never been pretty in Gun’s eyes.

  “Good work, Miss Hom,” Claudine says. “My cybermercs have spent weeks trying to track down this young man. And here you help us catch him in a single night. I will overlook the fact that you violated Global protocol to do so.”

  At her words, something inside him cracks. Not his Short Stuff. Surely Sulan didn’t betray him to Claudine. He flicks a glance at her.

  Sulan is decked out in a ridiculous avatar, a getup with skin tight red leather and breasts the size of watermelons. He sees through the avatar to the girl u
nderneath, though; he’d know her eyes and facial expressions anywhere, no matter the avatar that holds her.

  Now he sees pure hate radiating from Sulan’s eyes, and it’s all directed at Claudine. That look is enough to tell him she didn’t willingly betray him.

  His feelings for her swell. She’s still his Short Stuff, even if they have issues to work through.

  “Leave Sulan out of this,” he says to Claudine. “This is between us.”

  Her cold, dark eyes—the only part of her that is an exact replica of her real-world body—land on him. He wonders, not for the first time, if she suspects who Sulan’s training partner really is.

  What else explains the tenacity with which she’d come after him in the past months? The traps she set for him in Vex? And why she hit him with enough Dream Dust to bring down three men? The GABA—gamma-aminobutyric acid—flooding his system will make him violently ill in a short time.

  Claudine’s eyes gleam at his plea. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  She flicks her wrist. The cybermercs close in on Gun and Sulan, brandishing their Decoders. The Decoders are for him, of course. Claudine is determined to get to his true Vex Identity.

  Gun readies his Black Tech defense system. Nate and the Dread Twins worked on this avatar for weeks. It may have failed when he broke into Collusion Underground, but it’s more than a match for Claudine.

  As the first of the mercs strike him, the words HOT LAVA DEPLOYED flash across his vision.

  Hot Lava is a Dread Twin concoction, a Black Tech defense that scrambles the code of the offending avatar. Not only does it eject avatars from Vex, but it scrambles their code so thoroughly there’s no way for them to return to Vex quickly.

  One by one, the mercs attack and the Hot Lava takes them out. They melt around him, their avatars collapsing into lumpy goo before evaporating from Vex. Gun ignores the many avatars shedding off his body, each layer of protection peeled away one after another. Although, he does wonder if Nate had been drinking when he sees the caterpillar avatar with machine gun legs.