Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  Then he took a closer look at the horror all around him and did just that.

  Pull it together, Johnny-boy! We're the farthest thing from safe! He tried to bull his way through the disorientation and panic his now felt, his ears tormented by crashes and screams just beyond the chamber he now found himself in. A pair of unmoving men wearing blood-spattered lab coats perforated by holes were slumped over by the gurney he was strapped on.

  Shit! Why the hell am I strapped to a gurney? He quickly took in his surroundings, noting chrome trays and exotic surgical instruments all around the strange-looking surgical ward, if that was indeed what it was. The counter looked like what he expected, but the fluted faucet design appeared quite strange, assuming he was eyeing a faucet at all. The blood-spattered computer on the far side of the room beside the surgical paraphernalia looked positively ancient, with oddly flashing lights and magnetic tape drives. It might resemble a relic from the '50s, but John had the odd suspicion it was anything but.

  Alright, how the hell do I get out of here? A quick scan revealed little that could help him out of his predicament. Only then did he note that his wrists were bound by strange-looking handcuffs. He gave them a tentative pull and suddenly winced, hit by a surprising jolt of pain.

  "What the hell?" His voice was a strained whisper. He forced himself to finally look down at the source of his throbbing pain.

  Seeing the blood-spattered shift covering his chest, he knew that at least some of the stench of blood and entrails thick on the back of his throat was his own.

  He trembled, realizing he hadn't escaped being cut down by gunfire any more than the pair of doctors had. He had been shot and left for dead, just like the corpses slumped by the door.

  Panicked shouts, cries, and crackling hums could be heard in the hallway just beyond.

  It took everything he had to hold back a scream.

  He didn't know how he was even alive, fearing it was just shock and adrenaline numbing the pain that was fading even as he stared at his perforated hospital gown. But one thing was clear.

  Wounded or not, if whoever was responsible for this butchery found him still alive, his desperate struggle to survive up to this point would have meant absolutely nothing.

  "Fuck!" John hissed, struggling against the cuffs which, thank goodness, were not clamped so tightly as to cut off circulation.

  His mind flashed to the esoteric conversations he used to have with his best friend who had turned out to be his brother. He wanted to rail against the deception, the horror of realizing he had never been anything to his father and brother other than an interesting experiment involving whatever the hell it was that they were up to. Making forged symbiotes, just like you! But all that could wait. Right now he had to focus on the more immediate issue of survival, remembering Mitch's advice for getting out of restraints.

  Whatever had shot him had left a lot of blood on his torso.

  Slimy, slick blood that had yet to coagulate.

  His heart began to race as he was hit with an awful idea, wincing as he forced his back to arch, terrified of the furious jolt of pain he expected to feel, and amazed that all he felt was a dull, aching throb.

  He was grateful for the play he had in his restraints, not tied so tightly that he couldn't move his hands up to his face, perhaps to drink water or eat if his captors had trusted him. He just couldn't escape the bed.

  But he could certainly place his hand on his chest while lifting his shredded hospital gown up, allowing the puddle of blood on his abdomen to trickle down his arched chest to his manacles.

  The screams got closer.

  His heart pounded a panicked rhythm as the warm, slimy blood covered his wrists and cuffs.

  Okay, that's about as good as it's going to get, he thought. He braced himself, doing his best to press his thumb against his palm, and gave it a good hard yank.

  Shit! He felt a burst of pain, afraid he had dislocated his thumb, then a surge of relief washed over him.

  His right hand was free.

  And with a painful pull that hurt a lot less than it should, he eased his thumb back into its socket, relieved to find it working the way it should when he wiggled it.

  He had to hold back a whimper as he realized he'd have to do the same for his other hand, but with one hand free it was so much easier, and he didn't even dislocate anything when he wrenched his left hand loose.

  Thank God they hadn't felt the need to restrain his feet with anything more than cloth straps, easily removed.

  And not a second too soon as he heard guttural cries his throbbing head could somehow make out, desperate eyes looking for something he could use to save himself.

  But there was nothing.

  No convenient scalpels that he could spot in the two seconds he had before the sliding door would be forced open.

  Just the cool breeze behind him from a half-open window.

  "We cleared this room ten minutes ago."

  "Double check. Highlord Rojan has made it clear that there are to be no survivors. We both know what will happen if a carrier breaks through!”

  "Sorry, sir. The door is jammed!"

  John hissed, heart hammering in his throat, relieved beyond words to see how one of the fallen bodies had slumped right against the door, making it difficult but not impossible to slide open once more.

  It was the only reason why John wasn't dead yet.

  Then he saw a soldier’s brilliant blue eyes as they struggled to widen the tiny gap between door and jamb.

  "We have a survivor! Get that door open!" one man roared.

  "Just shoot through the panel. Cut that asshole down!"

  But John was already sprinting for the bed against the far wall and jumping for the elevated window sill right above it.

  Finesse Check made!

  Grabbing hold and wrenching up his legs as brilliant flashes of laser fire tore through the room.

  "The test subject's escaping! Take him out, now!"

  With a desperate burst of strength, John forced himself through the window, holding back a cry as a hot flash of light seared through his foot. He was hanging onto the sill by his fingertips alone, streaks of laser fire just missing his legs as he finished worming desperately through, holding on just long enough to make sure the drop wasn’t suicidal before letting go, stomach quivering in his throat as the ground rushed up to meet him. He collapsed into a roll on soft, loamy soil as his left foot crumpled, spiking with pain.

  You have suffered 15 damage and a Light Wound. Your movement is hampered. You lost a toe! -20% movement speed until injury healed.

  John took a shuddering breath of air smelling of wildflowers and forest, and caught sight of thick foliage on the other side of what a quick glance told him was a cluster of buildings on landscaped greenery that, as far as John could tell, was surrounded by trees on all sides.

  His surroundings were picturesque and beautiful, with a thousand twinkling stars and a gorgeous blue moon overhead that left him dumbstruck with awe for only a moment as angry shouts and the flash of laser fire forced him into a panicked run. He zigzagged for the tree line, adrenaline and terror compelling him to speeds that would have astounded his track coach.

  Even as he raced with desperate terror, he couldn't deny the awe and wonder he felt after having glimpsed the sky. For the moon looking down upon them all was a planet, complete with swirling white clouds, blue seas, and the dark green-brown of what could only be continents.

  It was one thing to hear about the wonders of Endless on Readit, a virtual reality game so life-like that most players swore they couldn’t tell the difference. But to actually see Phoebe soaring overhead, to actually suffer the hot burn of laser fire cooking his flesh, to feel the cold terror of running for his life from men roaring and yelling in a language he had never heard before yet somehow understood perfectly, all of it left a mark on his soul that was beyond profound.

  He now had no doubt that Endless was real. Somehow, he was really here.

 
Pain throbbed in his foot as he wheezed for breath, the sound of men yelling and coordinating between themselves as they tried to run him down in the dark made it clear that this world was no game. John sensed no memories involving how to fly a starship, pilot a battle-mech, or cast a spell rolling around in his head like so many players who jacked in with several years’ worth of memtapes somehow logged into their synth bodies.

  John guessed that was because the body he now inhabited was truly his own.

  But just in case...

  "Parachute," John whispered as he gasped for breath, both exhilarated and terrified when nothing happened. Because at that moment, despite all his gaming fantasies of actually finding himself in an alternate world and living a life filled with excitement, magic, and wonder, part of him very much wanted all this to be a dream. He just wanted to wake up in his bed and find everything back the way it had been before those awful sirens changed everything.

  Maybe Mitch would be yelling at him for being an idiot, having a bad trip with a black cat helm he had no business wearing. John would chuckle with relief, swear never to log on again, and finally have the courage to ask Emily out without the end of the world having to occur. Then he would get on with living the life he was supposed to have, and be filled with gratitude for each day he could do just that.

  "Parachute!" he screamed.

  And nothing happened. He was still stumbling in the dark.

  "Sir, I heard something!"

  "Spread out. Rosen, take beta squad. Eliminate the target on sight, or anyone else you see. Nils, your men are with me. You have your sabers?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Good. We're at the edge of a high mana zone. You three with implants, stay back and cover us. Everyone else, if your blasters stop working, use your sabers to cut him down! You all know the penalties if we don't contain this facility and eliminate any loose ends.”

  John's gut clenched at those words. Two squads were gunning for him. He was no J. Bourne, no special forces soldier. He was a high school senior with some kind of parasite fused to his soul and a Highlord for a father. He might have learned how to throw a punch and some fancy tricks with a saber, but he was far more comfortable in front of a computer screen than out in the wilderness. Never had he dreamed that he would be running for his life through primeval woodlands in the dead of night, let alone on an alternate world where swords and lasers and magic were all in play.

  Even as terror pushed him forward, the officer's words of warning to his troops had filled John with sudden desperate hope that he might actually survive this night.

  And he knew he'd have to do more than just run.

  His brother's impish smile after besting him whenever they played on opposing teams during capture the flag suddenly flashed across his mind's eye as he zigzagged through the trees, heading ever deeper into the woods, until the burbling trickle of a stream up ahead caressed his ears.

  "How the fuck is it that you always manage to circle around us and nab our flag, no matter what we do?" John had asked a laughing Mitch just last month, ruefully rubbing the welts his brother's paintball gun had given him as they feasted on ice cream sundaes and sandwiches at the nearby diner.

  Mitch had flashed a teasing smile, lowering his voice as their friends ribbed each other and discussed the final match. "Keep a secret, John?"

  "You know it."

  Mitch nodded. "Then answer this. Why go around when you can go below... or above?"

  John had blinked, gazing out the diner window to peer at the majestic conifer trees blowing in the breeze. "Seriously? But I never saw you. And when you shoot me, it's always from behind.”

  "And how often do you actually think to look in the trees? A thoughtful man climbs above, a resourceful man builds where he can, and a crazy man will jump between all obstacles. I, of course, happen to be all three."

  John just shook his head. "Seriously?"

  The friend who had turned out to be his brother, hiding so many damned secrets, had just smiled, sipping his drink. "Really, John. Why the hell would I shoot you from the trees and give the game away? Far easier just to get in position and sneak up from behind. That way my hidden card is safe, and you never see me coming."

  "Sir, we're approaching the river. No signs of anyone's passage save our own." The high-pitched voice carried easily through the trees, breaking John out of his reverie.

  "Heat signatures?"

  "Sorry, sir. Jude's implant began fritzing a hundred yards back. He and the other cyber-enhanced men are now guarding the base. Honestly, I don't know why Central Command insisted on stationing them here. We all know the electromana field's been in flux ever since that damned Terran declared himself a contender, throwing our world into chaos."

  John clung tightly to the branches he had climbed, looking down at the pair of soldiers below. He was chilled by how eerily familiar the shiny white polymer armor looked, even the compact dark carbines. And he had actually seen the laser beams they shot! Which made no real sense. Laser fire wasn't normally visible, at least not in the real world. Only the swords sheathed at their sides diverged from the gear all space troopers wore in his favorite movies. The blades looked almost identical to 1796 cavalry sabers, not exactly what he expected futuristic soldiers to be wearing.

  He could only hope that desperation, determination, and the resourcefulness to cool his hands and feet in the river bank before climbing up a branch-laden tree right beside the river would give him the edge he needed to survive.

  "Damn. We need to contain this!” said the larger soldier. “This sector's already under quarantine, and if the South wasn’t so sparsely populated, all of Jordia would be in peril."

  "All freeports and trade hubs within a hundred miles are under secure lockdown, sir,” said the higher-pitched voice. “None of those infected scum will get within a hundred yards of Dominion interests, and we have silver-collared healers oathbound to take care of our people. The important thing is that we shut down that damned facility and killed the enemy agents before any more of those horrors could break through."

  The man paused thoughtfully, then nodded. "You're right, Svetlana. It's good you were assigned to my team."

  John heard a throaty, female chuckle. "You are my captain. Of course I would bend over backwards to serve you."

  "Would you, now."

  "You know I would, Christoff. For you, and you alone."

  The man paused. "Were we not in the middle of a man-hunt..."

  "In the middle of the night, chasing a ghost no one even got a good look at, assuming a flash of feet in the window was anything but mad delusion. And even if it weren’t, we’re heading in the direction of that upstart’s territory.”

  "Good. Let that bastard deal with the mess on his lands. As far as I'm concerned, my men are chasing ghosts in the shadows."

  The girl took off her helmet, golden locks shimmering in the moonlight. "While you have already caught your prize."

  The captain's breathing quickened, his own helmet removed, the pair soon lost in an act as old as time.

  John's eyes widened as the two figures entwined. Not acting like faceless, mindless soldiers at all. The girl was quite beautiful in the moonlight, sighing at her lover's touch.

  John felt a storm of emotions as he crept down the tree, realizing that now would be the perfect time to slowly unsheathe the blade sticking out from the captain's hastily discarded armaments and tear into the entwined lovers lost in the height of bliss and vulnerability.

  His pulse quickened as his hand tightly clenched the hilt of the captain's blade.

  Slowly he extracted the sword belt and sheath from the captain’s armored leggings, the deep gloom of the canopy he crept from hiding him perfectly.

  You're a bit of a sneaky bastard, aren't you, John? No match for your brother, but then again, when were you ever?

  Stealth Rank 1 successfully quantized!

  He found himself gazing down at the pair of lovers lost in passion like a dark God, with his Damo
cles Sword raised overhead.

  Just one cleaving swing, and the beautiful girl crying out in her lover's arms would never fire a blaster his way again. And she would never laugh out loud for joy, or comfort a grieving parent again. She would never hold a child of her own again.

  John hissed, stepping back, sheathing the saber he had claimed with trembling hands, then belting the weapon about his near-naked form.

  These weren't faceless drones in his favorite movie. They weren't bloodthirsty monsters ravaging innocent townsfolk. Most of all, they weren't just pixels in a computer game.

  They were real, living people who had been assigned an ugly duty, doing what they thought was right. A pair of soldiers who might have been sloppy, perhaps foolish, but guilty of no more than following orders and falling in love.

  He wouldn't be cutting down monsters. He'd be butchering a couple making love in the woods, who, for all he knew, were hoping for a family of their own.

  John shook, swallowing hot bitter bile. It was one thing to fight in self-defense, quite another to kill in cold blood.

  He had been sent to this world to fight inhuman monsters, not to become one.

  Somehow, John thought the captain and his lover were as eager to put this night of horror behind them as he was. And he was perfectly happy to let them do just that.

  However, near naked and defenseless, and no stronger than any other athletic high-schooler, he sure as shit was keeping the blade.

  Maybe the captain would raise a hue and cry. But then again, he'd have to explain how he had managed to lose his weapon in the first place. And who knew? Maybe Svetlana and her captain would realize that the fugitive they had been so hot to take down had just spared their lives.

  Wasting no time, John carefully made his way across the river, feeling a sudden surge of warmth and tingling energy caressing his body. The soft cries of passion behind him quickly faded to the whispers of ancient oaks and evergreens, thick leafy canopies and pine needles rustling in the nighttime breeze as he slipped through the hunter's net, eager to put as much distance between himself and the soldiers hunting him as possible.