Shedding the Demon

by Bill Denise

  He had no further time for thought as he entered a room and waited for the soldiers to approach from the other side. Apparently they did not have a fix on his position because they entered the room unprepared. Damon opened fire immediately, no longer having the luxury of trying to remain non-lethal. He carefully regulated the rate of fire in order to use only a couple of rounds with each attack. The effect was not dramatic, but it was effective and he soon finished off this first group.

  He had very little time to savor his victory and was quickly moving on the second group. He was able to approach from behind, but he lacked the easy setup of a convenient room to use as a killing field. This situation lent itself to the relatively quiet approach of the ECB, so Damon extended the blade on his right hand to its full one-meter length. He had no time to plan, but moved in immediately without pausing to consider the best approach.

  Damon felt a familiar exhilaration as he moved among his targets, whirling, spinning, and dealing death on all sides with the combat blade. The plastic blade cut through armor, weapons, flesh, and bone with equal ease making a gory mess as he moved with a grace so incongruent with his size. The Demon was completely awakened now and many of his targets had no idea he was in range before they died. Before he could take out the entire group, they rallied and formed a defensive group that halted his swift-flowing rampage. This final group he took out with a high explosive grenade lobbed in their midst.

  The Demon paused to survey the remnants of his work before sending out another active scan to pinpoint the last group of soldiers. They were very close to the refugees, and he fervently hoped they would not kill the innocent people, but would concentrate only on him.

  He finally felt as if he could indeed accomplish his mission, even if the priorities had shifted since he first started with his simple recon.

  Before he had taken a step toward his goal, the last three charges detonated far below him, deep in the foundation of the structure beneath his feet. The floor shook violently and shifted to one side. Ancient concrete broke from the walls in large chunks, and Damon was sure the whole structure would collapse. Steel fell from the ceiling and dust filled the air as the floor pitched and rolled. After a few seconds it stopped moving and everything went strangely quiet. The lights were out again, and Damon worried about his adopted refugees up ahead.

  He scrambled through the maze of destruction and it didn’t take him long to catch up with the fleeing refugees. However, they were no longer fleeing.

  Instead they were trying to dig out and uncover members of their group who had been caught under falling debris. Damon knew immediately that many of the trapped victims were already dead or soon would be.

  Nevertheless, he lifted some of the bigger pieces and tried to convince the others to keep moving toward the surface.

  He had just freed a badly injured woman, who he was sure would never survive when his HUD put up two simultaneous warnings of targets close –very close. He turned toward one and threw the heavy beam he had been lifting. The impact raised a plume of dust and concrete shards and before his vision cleared his worst fears were realized when he heard the “whoosh” of a Kyndra-damned gun. He could not evade without putting the refugees behind him at risk, so he stood his ground and took the shot full in the chest.

  The pain was instant and intense.

  He looked down, and the sheer number of needles poking out of his armor made his vision darken at the edges. He staggered as he fired a grenade in the direction of the sniper without aiming and hoped it would be enough to take him out. The second target appeared from the side and shot him in the hip, spinning him around to fall amongst the detritus on the cracked floor. He crawled forward, trying to fire something at the sniper, but he could barely see through his pain-clouded senses. He tried to stand and failed, landing painfully on his back.

  His vision swam, but he saw the man stand over him, and point the ugly-looking gun directly at his face from no more than half a meter away. Damon began to extrude his single combat blade, but everything went dark before he could raise his arm.

  Chapter Twelve

  Leland McKrae made his way through the rubble that had once led to his home. His heart was heavy with the realization of the extent of the destruction. Truth be told, he spent only a small minority of his time in these catacombs, and in reality probably slept more nights outside, in other places. However, in his thoughts and feelings, this underground sanctuary was his true home. His people, his adopted family, lived here and they had weathered many storms of persecution in its protective depths and complexity. He frowned bitterly as he considered the irony that the long-time safety had been shattered by a self-named Demon. As my followers, you will suffer persecution, Leland thought, reciting the words from his ancient Bible. Words that had carried him through many times of hardship, but he never believed that his home would be destroyed.

  As he climbed down through the wreckage, he prayed for the safety of his friends. He moved as fast as he could, although he risked injury by doing so. He had to know if anyone still lived. He had lost many of his close friends through the years but the possibility of losing so many weighed heavily on him.

  He entered a long, wide corridor and stopped. Everything was gray from the slowly settling concrete dust and it took him a moment to notice the people.

  A dozen or so were scattered amongst the debris. Most were sitting on the floor, faces in their hands, many shaking with sobs. A few stood here and there, their eyes unfocused. All were coated in dust, draining them of color, and making them look like statues but for their small movements. Nonetheless, Leland nearly collapsed. He put his hand out to a nearby wall to keep himself upright as tight bands constricted around his chest.

  He was unable to swallow and breathing was difficult as his throat constricted. He hugged those he encountered first and asked breathlessly, “How many? How many have been lost?” His voice scratchy in his dry throat. He thought he would choke on the dust.

  The people could only shake their heads. They did not know. Leland gave simple instructions for continuing on to the surface and where to meet later, and then continued his decent. He passed more survivors—greeting most with hugs and kisses—relayed his instructions, and moved on. He tried to keep a mental tally of who he had seen and who was missing, but there were too many to track and he was forced to give up.

  Soon he came to a group of survivors standing near the center of the large room, deep in discussion. Bodies lay strewn about the room, most of whom Leland recognized and mourned. He stopped suddenly as he passed one of the victims and realized he had died of a bullet wound.

  “What happened?” he asked of the small group of survivors huddled together who had not yet noticed his entry.

  As one, they looked at him and their faces lit up. “Leland, thank God,” one of the men said as the group moved toward him.

  Ignoring the greeting, he persisted. “What happened? These people were shot!”

  “Soldiers, Lee. Group I never seen down here before. They must have came in with those new guys we saw last week,” one man said.

  “They were shooting at everyone!” a woman added.

  “I think they were after the guy,” another man interjected, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

  “But he was trying to protect us, Sam,” a third man interrupted.

  Leland held up his hands, “Hold on, hold on, one at a time. Sam, what guy?”

  “The guy we saw the other night! The big one, with the crazy gun-hand!”

  “Wait, what? Damon? He was here?” Leland asked.

  “Was? Still is!” Sam said as he scrambled over a fallen beam to a pile near the middle of the room where he started clearing away debris. “We had to stop this guy,” he nodded toward an armor-clad body nearby, “and then we hid him from the others.”

  Leland watched as Sam uncovered the well-hidden body of the man that had haunted his thoughts over the past few weeks. In shock, he sat down on a chunk of concrete nearby and t
ried to figure out what happened.

  Slowly, he was able to sketch together a series of events that led to Damon’s last stand in this room against the needle-gun wielding soldiers.

  “So. Damon tried to save you . . . from the bombs he planted . . . tried to protect you from soldiers trying to kill him . . . you then decide to stop these soldiers from taking him away by killing them? And you hide him from the follow-up group as well?”

  They all looked sheepish. “Well, I didn’t mean to kill the soldier,” Sam replied. “I hit him with that bar,” he said, pointing to a bent piece of steel on the floor, “but I thought his armor would protect him.” He paused and looked at the floor, “I swung it as hard as I could. Jesus forgive me.”

  Leland reached out and grasped Sam’s shoulder. “He does, my brother, he always does. Obviously, I don’t judge you, and actually I think you did the right thing, although I wish you’d never been put in this situation. But I still don’t quite understand the big picture. What was Damon doing? If he was trying to save you, why did he blow up the place?”

  No one could answer the question, and they knew it was rhetorical, so they didn’t try. Leland sighed, looking down at the Demon.

  “Now what,” he said to the body lying at his feet, “am I going to do with you?”

  Moving Damon turned out to be harder than they imagined. He was big, of course, but they had no idea just how heavy he was. Luckily, he was stiff as a steel rail, and with three men on either side they were able to push, pull, lift, and drag him through the rubble. They did not encounter any soldiers. Fortunately for us, Leland thought, since they would not have been able to keep the soldiers from taking him away. Finally, after a few hours of struggle, they reached the surface and all of the men collapsed in exhaustion.

  “What . . . do we do . . . with him now?” Sam asked Leland, still breathing hard.

  Leland thought for a minute, and said, “Let’s get him in the car and put him in the storage building.” He paused and stretched his aching back. “Hopefully by then I’ll have another idea!”

  Everyone laughed lightly, too tired to carry on much conversation.

  Leland took a few seconds to send off an electronic message through his implants. “I called some of the guys from the church and they’re on their way to get the car now. You stay here and wait. I have to track down some friends and see what I can find out.”

  He scrutinized the inert form in front of him and wondered if the young man inside the armor was still alive. Surely the solid and nearly impervious form it had taken must be a defense mechanism, but he wondered if the system would continue to protect a dead occupant. He swept the rudimentary sensors from his old implants over the body again, as he had a hundred times before and still he found nothing coherent. He picked up a faint signal right on the body, but it was little more than static. His implants had been state-of-the-art when they were new and he was on the battlefield, but nowadays they were no more powerful than some children’s toys.

  They’re going to come looking for him, he thought, I need to get some help. Leland realized it was time to call in some favors from some very old friends.

  “You guys know what to do. After you get him to the storage building, see Patsy for instructions. She’s organizing relocation of the church. Get something to eat, and get some rest. I’ll probably be gone a few days so don’t wait around for me.” After he spoke, he shook hands, shared hugs, and wished everyone well before turning to jog off into the Ruins. Once out of sight of the others, he turned up the augmentation in his legs and picked up speed. This old body still works, but for how much longer? He wondered the same thing every time when he used his implants.

  Deep inside the Ruins, he arrived at his destination. He rested a couple of blocks away in order to catch his breath, thinking the old body may work, but it’s not in good shape! After a few minutes, he was composed, and he had found nothing unexpected on his sensors. His implants couldn’t penetrate even these decrepit old concrete walls, but he didn’t find anything unusual outside. The fact that he had not yet been confronted told him that his stealth system was still marginally effective in any case. Once he was ready, he rounded the corner and approached the target. He was careful to walk slowly and keep his hands in sight. Most of the guards in the area would recognize him, but he never knew when a new recruit might show up. Carelessness combined with a nervous rookie could lead to some bad consequences.

  “Hey, Lee!” he heard from the sentry post high above, hidden in the facade that was carefully sculpted to appear like the crumbling walls all around. He heard someone talking quietly into a radio and waited only moment before two armed guards materialized from the collapsing structures around him. He recognized both and relaxed completely. Both men had their autorifles slung over their shoulders and approached him casually. The older of the two shook Leland’s hand and pulled him into an embrace.

  “Good to see you again, Captain!” the older man said as he released him. “We heard about the attack and the explosions and we wondered if you made it out all right.”

  “We lost a few, unfortunately.” He paused because he hadn’t yet come to terms with what he was about to say. “We lost some good people—innocents—because I was cocky and thought I had it all under control.” He felt the wetness in his eyes, the guilt and sadness mixing together and bubbling to the surface with his confession.

  The younger man stared wide-eyed at Leland, obviously uncomfortable with his display of emotion.

  “Go tell the major that the captain’s here to see him,” the older man said to his partner. He put his arm around Leland and squeezed. “It never gets any easier, Cap, you know that. If we learned nothing else out there, we learned that. You led us through some tough spots back in the day. Most of us would probably be dead if it weren’t for you.” He kept his arm around Leland and led him to the door.

  Once inside, the surroundings changed dramatically. The outside was designed to fit in with the collapsing buildings all around, but inside everything was new, clean, and shiny. The transition from dark and drab exterior to brightly lit interior was shocking, but Leland was not paying attention, and he had seen it many times before. They walked slowly, giving him enough time to compose himself before meeting with his old commanding officer.

  **** ****

  Ken Westron was usually calm and composed, characteristics he had worked hard to maintain throughout his business dealings. The practice he gained while working with the less-savory elements of society allowed him to sit calmly in front of the energized muzzle of Damon’s Trip-PC when they first met.

  He started out unconcerned when Damon’s signal was lost as he went back underground; Ken had expected that. He got apprehensive when he registered the movements of men and equipment on the surface shortly thereafter.

  At that point, he used his skill as a programmer to work himself into the local control systems in the immediate vicinity of the underground factory. Being careful not to draw attention to himself, Ken picked up bits and pieces of information that helped him put together a picture of what was happening. When he saw the damage to the machinery and the sheer amount of heavy weaponry in play, he became distressed. Finally, when he heard reports of the Demon being taken down, he truly worried.

  Ken knew that Damon was not indestructible, but he never really believed anyone would be able to gather the firepower required to take him out. Ken had spent the past few months teaching Damon to be smarter on his missions, instead of relying on brute strength. Despite Damon’s background of street-fighting, he was slow to accept the wisdom of Ken’s ideas, since he reveled in his pure firepower. He finally relented and took the advice to heart. After that, his combination of power and street-smart tactics made Damon truly formidable. He finally learned not to go toe-to-toe with heavy weaponry, and he developed the savvy to know when and how to slip away from unfavorable odds.

  Now it appeared that someone had managed to take the Demon down, and Ken was truly shocked. Aft
er a few minutes of useless flailing inside the factory’s control system, Ken finally gathered his senses, calmed himself, and got to work.

  Ken’s business had given him access to rich, important, powerful people on all levels of society. His singular skills put him in demand for many different types of transactions, some of them legitimate. Over the years he had accumulated favors big and small from innumerable sources, and rarely collected. Now, he decided, it was time to call in some of those favors.

  He spun up a connection to the owner of a shady security firm often employed for, as they liked to say, “extreme persuasion.”

  “I need a high-end strike team on Adithi as fast as possible,” Ken said as soon as the connection was made. “No, a week is too long, I’ve only got two days . . . I don’t care the cost, you know I’m good for it . . . Good, thanks, coordinates sent through. Oh—don’t send me trigger-happy goons, either! I need a team that thinks and follows orders. Thanks. Bye”

  Next was the BioSurgeon Ken usually employed for the most complicated implants. Ken had him pulled out of surgery, and told him to get moving to arrive as quickly as possible.

  And so it went for the next thirty minutes as Ken assembled a team of specialists and equipment he felt he would need if he was to have any hope of saving Damon. Luckily, he had collected a lot of high-end equipment from Damon’s missions. Some of the items would have taken days or even weeks for him to procure otherwise.

  Finally, everything was in place and Ken had to wait. The next two days dragged by interminably as Ken supervised the preparations.

  Somewhere down below his friend was in need of his help, but there was nothing he could do until the strike team arrived. Periodically, Ken would infiltrate various security systems in the area where Damon was lost and try to pick up more information, but he found nothing of interest.