by Lee Doty
“Xian is onsite.” Yuen said from behind him, breaking Bai’s reverie.
On the screen, Ash looked toward the door and Bai looked at the other monitors. Root’s Tech closed the door behind Xian and quickly scanned the street through the glass before turning to follow Xian back to the two waiting teams of Falcons.
The two members of Root who were guarding the prisoners hauled them to their feet, and Bai turned back to the two Clerics he was supervising. He did it reluctantly, giving the prisoners one final glance, but he did it. He was what he was made to be, a part of a glorious whole, a cog in a glorious machine. One man among equals, a servant of the people.
He was a coward.
Sacrifice
Chicago, 2020
Hawkins sat on the floor next to Ash, arms bound behind his back for the second time today. Between all the leg-shooting and arm-breaking, the getting hit with flashbangs and the general violence of being captured twice, his body was at the limits of endurance. His hands were numb behind the tight restraints, but he could feel them twitching, could feel his leg trying to cramp behind the tourniquet on his leg, he could feel the burning agony of the gunshot wound behind the tourniquet. The shakes of the adrenaline crash moved like a cold wind over and through his entire body.
Ash sat, giving him an inscrutable look, half appraising, half conspiratorial, plus an extra thirty-nine percent of some kind of weird humor. Hawkins got the impression she was trying to include him in a secret joke, but had no idea why he even thought that… raised eyebrow maybe?
Hawkins smiled back around the gag, shaking his head slightly. This had been an awesome day.
Across the lobby, one of the Dragons let a man into the lobby. The new arrival wore a non-descript black suit and tie with a rumpled looking white shirt beneath. His face was terrifying. It wasn’t the features, which were smooth and even enough to be called handsome in a general way. It was the expression, the eyes. Though he was half trying to tone it down behind an official-looking expression, what was half-hidden was something that Hawkins recognized down deep at the level of reflexes and intuition. The new arrival had the glassy-eyed glee in his eyes that Hawkins had seen twice before. Hawkins imagined that it was the look that a serial killer allowed out once his victims were strapped to the table.
Hawkins had seen that look on the face of a terrorist on an internet video as he beheaded a bound reporter—some poor woman who had been captured while interviewing local minorities who had also been brutalized by the terrorists. The other time he had seen this look was in the eyes of a coward with a generator and a red-hot spoon in Liberia.
Hawkins’ blood ran cold, but not with fear. What Hawkins felt was a fury that seemed to carry no heat, a cold merciless rage that was built for action. His eyes narrowed.
“Good day, Falcons!” The new arrival said enthusiastically, “I am Veteran Xian! I know none of you have met me before, but as you are now, I once was.”
The two Dragons guarding Hawkins exchanged a glance. The new man, Xian, continued, “I no longer live in the Hollow, but spend my days in the glory of the Hallow. My reward can be your reward if you serve the Clerics faithfully, if you are true to your mission, if you play to win.”
“When?” the Dragon with the DMR guarding Hawkins blurted out, then he clamped his mouth shut and bowed his head slightly.
“This is a secret.” The new arrival said simply, putting a finger to his lips. “But if you have faith, it will happen when the time is right.”
He looked appraisingly around the lobby, eyes finally settling on Ash. “Bring the traitor to me!”
One of the Dragons guarding them, the smaller one, the one without the marksman’s rifle, moved forward, but another Dragon stepped in front of him. It wasn’t one that Hawkins had seen before—probably one from the team who had attempted to secure Ash in Agent King’s apartment. He was of average size, but there was an element of fierceness in his eyes that surprised Hawkins. The other dragons seemed like they were serious, but in a focused way, like a child playing an immersive game, but this Dragon looked more like a soldier fighting in a war in which he’d lost his family.
The new Dragon stared down the one who had been guarding Hawkins and Ash. The other Dragon took a step back and averted his eyes. Hawkins had the distinct impression of an Alpha dog putting a member of the pack in check.
The alpha dragon turned to Ash and gave her an intense look. “The mighty Ash!” the Dragon said, hauling Ash to her feet. His voice was hard, but his face wore a small smile. “Look how far you’ve…”
Ash head-butted him in the face.
***
Bai watched the beginning of the end. Ash was helpless, Crow outnumbered eight-to-one, Xian was on-site. Chrome was shouting at Ash—an odd display, Bai thought—he knew that Chrome hated Crow, but he’d always seemed to more admire Ash. Also, it was odd because unlike Phoenix, Chrome was all business in the field. Maybe it was because he’d never been Delta’s Cleric, but Bai couldn’t remember Chrome saying more than three words in the Hallow that weren’t related to his job.
Chrome yanked Ash to her feet, and she head-butted him in mid-insult. Bai smiled, barely preventing the laugh, which could have definitely gotten him in trouble later. Now that was not out of character, he thought.
Though Ash struggled, Chrome quickly got her under control. He dragged her, struggling, over to Xian in the center of the lobby.
Xian smiled at Ash as she struggled in vain against Chrome and her restraints. Finally, Chrome had her by the arm with his knife at her neck and she grew still. Xian looked around the lobby and shouted, “Crow! I know you are close! I know you can hear me!”
There was silence for a moment, then Xian continued, “Let me tell you a little about today’s mission objectives!” Xian not quite shouted with an air of amusement, as if he were the black ops version of a game show host and he was explaining the rules of a quiz show to the audience, “Objective one, secure that operative over there. Apparently, he’s got a lot of operational knowledge about the OSI so you and Ash here are just nice-to-have now. Though today’s goals started with securing Ash and broadened to include you when you put in an appearance at the train platform and so inconsiderately wiped out two teams of our Falcons.”
Xian paused again, smiling. He was really hamming it up, Bai thought. “Here’s the deal: I’ve already got my primary and one of my distant secondary objectives. Why don’t you come out and we can discuss the situation!”
There was silence for the next few seconds.
“Well. That was worth a try.” Xian said as if to himself, then he raised his voice again, “Okay. It’s clear you’re not falling for that one! Very good! Okay, here’s my next deal! I’m going to make Ash scream until you show yourself!”
Xian looked at Chrome, “Make her scream, if you can.”
***
Chrome called Trunc over and passed Ash to him. Trunc grabbed her bound arms and kicked her in the back of the knees. She fell to her knees, wincing. Blood trickled from the gunshot wound on her left thigh.
Chrome stood before Ash, holding his knife in his right hand, and his medkit in his left.
“Let’s start here, shall we?” Chrome said, looking at the medkit.
Ash just stared at him as he approached and pressed the medkit to the wound on her thigh.
There was a small accept tone and a light on the back of the kit turned amber. There was a sound like the operation of a hundred scissors, and the kit vibrated on her leg. Ash grimaced, face tightening as the hooks of the kit moved into her wounded leg. They probed, latched onto the .45 caliber slug lodged in the muscle, extracting it, and then knitted the fibers of muscles and veins back together. It took half a minute to finish. Finally the light on the back moved from amber to green and the hooks retracted. When Chrome removed the medkit, the .45 caliber slug fell to the floor, and the wound was closed, the skin still puckering slightly where the hole used to be.
Great, Ash thought, and one mor
e scar for the leg. During the experience, Ash had indulged in a bit of a staring competition with Xian. He matched her stare, but in the end, she could read disappointment in his eyes. He’d caused her to feel pain, but he hadn’t been able to make her care about it.
Ash took a deep breath. The pain had been excruciating, but it was nothing new. It was actually one of the less painful healings she’d received in her years in the Hallow, and nothing like the time the kit had helped stitch her guts back together in Turkmenistan. That had been about fifteen minutes of grinding hell during which she’d passed out three times.
She hadn’t screamed then, either. She let her impassive face soften just a bit, allowing out just a hint of amusement.
Xian’s eyes flashed with rage and he opened his mouth to give further instructions, but Chrome shouted. “Crow! Your teammate is brave, but I have a knife and a medkit and only a little time. My first cut will be through her right eye and then we’ll let the kit try to heal that!”
“I’ve seen the kits try to fix eyes before!” he shouted, “She might not scream, but Kira did, and she was blind in that eye and the Clerics said it put her into shock…” There was a pause, and something happened in Chrome’s face, something subtle, but Ash knew it was something terrible. It was a realization, and the realization was nearly impossible for him to endure.
He knew, Ash realized, he knew! Ash didn’t know Kira, as she went into her coma before Ash came out of her last one, but Crow had told her that Kira was Delta’s sniper before Fleet. Ash knew she’d been wounded on a mission in the Hallow and that she’d suddenly suffered a traumatic seizure after the mission and ended up in the library.
Then Ash realized the same thing that Chrome had just realized. Kira had been sent to the library because her eye was damaged beyond repair, the Clerics had discarded her like a broken tool.
Then Ash realized the rest.
She realized something she should have known all along. Especially after her time in the library when she’d tried to quit Phoenix. The league fatalities there: the zombie-like movements, the way they all moved similarly, the way they didn’t talk more than just a few phrases designed to disengage from the conversation. Like all of the Hollow, the League fatalities were a simulation. They were designed by the Clerics to convince the Falcons that death was serious, something to be avoided, but not The End. Not death, nothing to panic about, nothing to blow a mission to avoid.
And she realized that when she’d woken in recovery almost four years ago, she’d woken for the first time. There had been no coma, no past, yet secret career in the League. Before she had woken from that coma, there had been no Ash. She really was only four years old… it kinda explained a lot.
Somehow when she’d been “born”, she had the body of a twentyish woman and a mind that had no memories, yet she could speak, she had rudimentary skills, but it was all clean, a perfect featureless white of newness to body and mind. With a start, she realized she remembered her first thought. “Victory is life.” It had been part of the ceremony that the Clerics had been involved with when she had woken in the Hollow that first time.
She hadn’t been born.
She’d been unboxed.
Awesome.
But as disturbingly freeing as that realization had been for Ash, she could tell that the realization Chrome was experiencing was crushing him. His hollow eyes locked with hers and she could feel his pain. She wanted to give him a hug, but unfortunately—you know, ball gag, bound and held by Trunc on her knees—all that stuff makes the hugging less convenient. Still, they shared a moment of empathy, even support maybe.
The moment ended and Chrome continued with just a bit more heat. “She might not scream, Crow. But I remember the sound. Now is the time to come out. Before you have to feel that.”
Ash knew that this tactic wouldn’t work. Crow had to know that whatever plans their former masters had for them would make Chrome’s worst tortures look like a picnic in a tranquil park, a picnic with extraordinarily delicious food. A picnic on a soft, fuzzy blanket surrounded with ducks and flowers and…
“Okay!” Crow shouted from somewhere close. “I’m coming out. No need to hurt her!”
Ash’s warning cry came out like an inarticulate moan due to the truly inconvenient ball gag.
There was a small thump, like an acrobat sticking the big dismount, and the other Falcon teams shifted to cover the still-open elevator doors. Ash couldn’t see into the elevator from her position, but a few seconds later, a man in torn black clothes under a few pieces of Falcon armor came out holding a submachine gun over his head in both hands.
Looking at him, Ash’s terror seemed to end like an acrobat might exit the disorienting flips and twists of the big dismount when both feet landed with the surety of long practice on firm ground. The terror didn’t disappear, but the world focused, and she had her balance. Sure, it was a barefoot and precarious balance on the top of a flagpole on the top of the skyscraper of a truly horrible tactical situation, but it was balance. It was solid. Unlike the flagpole and skyscraper, unlike the guns and killers around them… Like nothing else in the world, the balance was real.
His achingly familiar face, with its familiar scars and cool, gentle eyes seemed to root her to her memories, bridging the gap between who she now was and the killer she had been when she knew him.
His face was grim with focus, pulled taut with concern. Then he saw her, kneeling and ball-gagged, but still smiling like a child seeing a long-lost friend for the first time in years. His eyes softened and he smiled back. Seeing that smile, Ash could see how it fit much better with the torn priest’s clothes he now wore than with the probably stolen armor he wore over it.
Did he always look this gentle, she wondered. Did he always look this helpless? Looking at the armor and the weapon in his hands, Ash felt inexplicably guilty. An instant later, she realized that the irrational guilt was because he’d had to pick up the gun again for her. He’d had to put the plate carrier again over his gentle heart and bloody his scarred hands again for her.
Ash’s eyes burned, and she unintentionally let another moan of sweetest sorrow around the ball gag.
“Well, well.” Xian laughed, “The mighty Crow. Looks like we found the chink in your armor after all. I must say I’m not surprised.”
He turned his attention to Chrome. “However, you have managed to surprise me, Chrome.” He clapped Chrome on the shoulder and shook him slightly, “Now that was initiative! I think there’s going to be a future for you in the organization! Wow!” he said, voice dripping an exultant sarcasm, “It’s like I’m looking at myself when I was younger, when I was in the teams, all full of…”
Chrome moved so quickly that Ash didn’t see it, but he turned, arm lashing out, and Xian staggered back, gagging. Chrome’s eye-threatening knife had slashed at Xian’s throat and though Xian had flinched back, the knife had cut clean and deep. Xian staggered back, clamping both hands over his throat as he tried to apply pressure to the wound.
***
Chicago, 5 minutes ago
Chrome was still staring into the elevator, thoughts filled with an unquantified anxiety, when the team channel opened.
There was only silence and a faint tapping sound, a barely audible click in the soft gossamer background static of the open channel. Chrome looked at the two conscious members of his team, neither looked like they were broadcasting, as their hands were far from the throat switch of their communicators. Trunc hadn’t noticed the open channel, as he was doing his job covering the elevator, but Zed was giving Chrome an odd look, eyes wide. Chrome gave him a questioning look, and Zed pointed to where Fleet lay. More specifically, he was pointing at Fleet’s throat, and at the spot where the communicator was no longer strapped around it.
Understanding bloomed in Chrome’s mind. Morse code. He cast his mind back, and played the stream of clicks back in his memory, translating:
“Fourth place. Crow.” The message repeated four times, then the channe
l closed.
Chrome opened the team channel and tapped back, “Crow, go”.
The channel opened and the tapping resumed, “Really me. Remember what you asked me at the library? You asked if I was there to rescue her. That is why I am here tonight. How would the Clerics know that?”
The channel closed.
From Zed’s face, Chrome could tell that he had also translated Crow’s message. Chrome hand signaled him “silence”, and Zed’s face became a mask of disinterest, betrayed only by bright furtive eyes.
Chrome signaled Zed to get Trunc’s attention. Zed walked behind Trunc and tapped him on the shoulder. Zed glanced at Chrome and Trunc turned to look. Chrome signaled him “silence, caution”. Trunc’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. Crow signaled, “listen”, then he indicated his communicator.
Chrome opened the team channel with his thumb, and used his forefinger to tap out “Crow, how?” He let the channel close.
The channel opened again, “This is the real world.” Crow signaled. “The Hollow is the simulation. It is 2020 now.” Then, “We are slaves.”
The channel stayed open, but Crow was silent for a moment. Chrome stood in a hollow silence, the hiss of background noise from the open channel seemed to increase the empty silence somehow, as if it were a barrier around him, holding him apart from the world.
In that silence, everything snapped together: The zombies in the library, the intensity of the Hallow and the bleak emptiness of the Hollow, the missions, the murder, the cold slumber filled with cartoons and textbooks. He was a slave. He didn’t believe, couldn’t believe, but only because he knew it, bone deep.
He was a slave.
At some level below conscious thought, he had known for some time, perhaps always. This is how the truth is, he thought, it is familiar like hearing something you remember, but had forgotten, like seeing a friend you haven’t thought about for a while. You are reminded of how he always looked, even though you might not have remembered it clearly enough to render the face. This is how the truth is: when you see it, you would be surprised if it looked any other way, because at some level you already knew.
