Backstab

by Everet Martins

  My fingers twiddle at my side. My breathing goes shallow. I force myself to take a deep breath. I’ve done this before, maybe a dozen times when the team feels as if they needed an intermediary. It never gets easier. I remind myself that before me stands a child.

  Everyone is thinking about what could go wrong. We’re at the last threshold of the entire transaction. This could be an ambush, which likely explains the team’s hesitation and desire for me to do the handoff. I’ve yet to find myself in a standoff or guns blazing situation during one of these. There’s tension, but it all eventually falls away like a picked scab.

  I recognize Wedge now. He’s a new String in Erinas. I think I met him once when we were both getting coffee in a break room. I step into the light of the street, and he sees the details, the cuts, the blood, and the ripped clothing. He’s giving me a full and nervy grin. I frown. His expression mirrors mine, eyes further narrowing in disgust.

  “What the fuck, Desmond? You go on a job or something?” he says jokingly with a thick Boston accent. He pulls out a vaporizer and takes a hit of what smells like marijuana. He offers it to me.

  I shake my head. “Not very professional, and yeah, I did,” I say with as much indifference as I can muster.

  “No shit?”

  “Yep.” I can’t think of anything more to say. I hate bullshit pleasantries.

  “Yeah, well.” He looks me up and down, then looks away, toward the club, searching for words. He stows his vaporizer in a deep suit jacket pocket then rubs his hands together. “Fucking radiation is awful today isn’t it?”

  “Always is.” I grimace. I can see that my mood is shit compared to his. He’s likely had a nice rest in a good hotel, eaten a hearty meal, and hasn’t witnessed the mass execution of a Merc crew.

  “So. You and the team got the payload?” he says with a friendly eyebrow bob.

  “Mhm.” I nod and cross my arms. “And you’ll be handing it over to…” I let him fill the void.

  “Yeah.” He sniffs. “Issac. Issac Reid.”

  “Okay. That’s good.” I let out a long, relieved breath. Everything is falling into place. I remind myself that I’m fucking awesome at what I do.

  “We spoke. It’s all good.” Wedge grins and then it quickly falters as if he just remembered something. “You know, as a friend, I want to let you know Orio sent me out here. I didn’t know you were here. If I had…” He trails off, leaving the rest unsaid.

  Infringing upon another String’s territory is frowned upon in our line of work. It should only happen when a String is fired or in rare cases, like being murdered by a psycho Merc. It’s an unfortunate hazard and partly why we’re well compensated.

  There is a long gap of silence stretching out between us. Wedge can’t handle it. His lips work like words are struggling to push through. “Well, Orio, he’s a dickhead anyway. It was weird. I got a call from Issac, said he’s going to manage things in Chicago now.”

  My heart flutters with relief. My messages got through to him. “Huh,” I say with a nod, playing it cool. “Wonderful.”

  As he goes on, his speech quickens. “Yeah. He took Chicago from Orio. Crazy shit, right? Issac then goes on to tell me what to do, the same old shit, nothing different really. This fucking weather, awful right?” Wedge glances about with the ghost of a laugh.

  “Very weird,” I mutter. I wonder how many more times he’ll comment on the weather.

  “I think Orio was gunning for you. He never liked you, you know?”

  “Wouldn’t have guessed that,” I say with an empty smile, the kind that doesn’t touch your eyes. I can only think of Suro, the pink mohawked asshole. I flash back to him trying to carve up my guts in the Hyatt, bloody knife clutched in his bloody fists.

  “Really?” Wedge raises an eyebrow. His skin is still so young, unmarred by the ravages of stress and work. He’s young, naïve. He’ll be like me eventually, a jaded asshole. At least I know I’m an asshole.

  I produce the chip from my pocket containing the code. I raise my hand to give it to him. “Here it—”

  Wedge’s head is rent into a globe of scarlet. There is a wet pop, and warmth splashes my face. My lips part with a gasp, and my mouth fills with the iron tang of his blood. My arm numbly continues on its path to hand him the chip when red holes appear in his suit. My eyes bulge from my skull.

  “What?” Realization is crackling lightning in my muscles. I drop to the ground and cover my head.

  The ruins of Wedge’s head lay before me. His attractive face has become a land of bone splinters, brains, and blood. An eye lolls from his head like an abandoned doll’s.

  There is another pop, and thunder roars in my skull. I try to look around, but my neck isn’t working right. Somehow, I’ve arrived at the ground. I try again, and my body doesn’t comply. A strange taste of lead and copper washes over my tongue. Hot liquid gushes down my throat, forcing me to cough out rivulets of blood.

  A white-hot, foreign pain fills my world. It stabs at my neck, jabs at my mouth, and prods at my essence. I think I’m screaming, but I don’t register the noise. There is only a persistent ringing in my head, warbling and echoing.

  The light of the world shimmers in swimming blacks. I try to slow my galloping mind, try to comprehend what must’ve happened. I think I was shot. It’s the only logical conclusion. Someone fucking shot me.

  I paw at my face. Something is very, very wrong. My fingers are a conflagration on my nerves. Vomit is wrenched from my mouth, spilling down my shoulder. My jaw. It’s all wrong. It’s gone.

  I try again, cautious fingers padding where my jaw should’ve been to find nothing but shattered stubs of bone. Agony streaks like demons. My fingers tremble, and I try again, not seeing, assessing the extent of the damage. Pain is wriggling heat behind my eyes. I wade through the misery to find the majority of my lower jaw has simply vanished.

  I blink. Or maybe I pass out, for how long I can only guess. Saber is standing above me, a blur, his pistol pointed at my head, the barrel weeping curls of smoke. His mouth is moving as if he’s speaking, but I don’t hear the words. He did this, all of it. Nothing makes sense. I look to my left to see Paragon standing beside him, casting me with apathy.

  I try to ask why, but it comes out as a wet gurgle. A bubble of mucus and blood pops on the edge of my nostril. I knew Talos wanted me dead, but I’m surprised to discover Saber pulled the trigger. The ice in his gaze is unrecognizable. He takes a step back.

  The pistol slides from the focus of my stare and is inconceivably holstered by Paragon. Paragon, not Saber. She shot me. The cunt shot me after everything we were, everything we had. My mind blisters into a dozen possibilities, trying to hunt for the reason for this betrayal and coming up empty. Something like a laugh and a wail coalesces in my mouth, resonates in my ears. My blood spatters into my eye with the force of it.

  I try to shout ‘why,’ and it comes out “Ly? Ly!” I blubber in my sorrow and pain.

  Death. Dying. Death. Dead. Pain, pain, pain.

  The rest of the team surrounds me. I see Nightshade, and my eyes find the luscious curve of her tits, even at the edge of Death’s breath. Talos smirks at my misfortune, or maybe my perversion. His sword is held in limp fingers at his side. I see my reflection in its mirrored edge. My visage is an artist’s composition of a nightmare.

  “Ly! Ly!” I demand to know, the words summoning new waves of misery.

  Paragon leans in close and licks her lips like she’s about to kiss me. I struggle for consciousness with every shred of my willpower. She speaks slowly for my wilting mind. “We. Got. A. Better. Contract.”

  “Wha? Who? From who?” I somehow rise onto my elbows, chest heaving with the effort. Blood rolls down my front, wet, warm and pooling in my belly button. I laugh at it, head bobbing.

  “Hubris Security. They gave us a better deal,” she says, rising up to her feet with a sigh.

  “What?” At first, I can’t comprehend it, so she repeats herself.

  “It
’s not complicated, Desmond. You Strings always over complicate things. It’s simple. We got a better deal. Someone with less bullshit and no baggage following after them. I thought you were wiser than this.”

  I can only shake my head in disbelief, throwing tendrils of blood about my sides. My eyes go wide as I spy a few of my teeth on the ground. I can’t look and turn back to look at Paragon. It’s going to be much more difficult to get sex now that I’m an ugly bastard.

  A spear of pain rips through my face, shattering cohesive thought. I can’t see, can’t think, can’t breathe for what must be moments. I open my eyes, realizing I closed them again. The team still surrounds me, observing my pitiful end.

  “You’re losing a lot of blood. You with me, Desmond?” Paragon asks.

  I slowly nod. Her face slides apart and is triplicated in my vision.

  “Erinas, your company is so messed up they’ll never know to blame us. Our reputation will remain pristine, as long as you keep your mouth…” She pauses to frown at me. “Your tongue, I guess, as long as you can keep it from wagging, I won’t shoot you twice and maybe you’ll have a chance at life.”

  I nod. Hard.

  “Good.” She nods back, although her smirk betrays her. She can see I’m on my way out from this world. “Nightshade removed any mention of our crew from Erinas’ database. We didn’t hack Erinas because we only wanted to help you. I do hope you weren’t that naïve and knew what we were doing.” She blows out a breath that lifts some of her hair.

  I try to tell her to go fuck herself, but the words gurgle in my throat.

  “Orio is the only loose end,” she continues. “He might’ve had some suspicion about our intentions, but I doubt it, and doubt even more that he cares. Especially if it involves you.” Paragon’s lips part into a sadistic grin. “Does it make you feel better?”

  She leaves a long pause, expecting an answer, and I can only shake my head. This is not how I imagined this job ending. Hot tears streak from my eyes. Then I feel shame at my tears, my wounds, my filth.

  “There’s no trail left behind for anyone in Erinas to follow. I thought you would’ve understood, Desmond. It’s only business, nothing to cry about.”

  My vision darkens at the edges. I hardly have the strength to support my neck. I slide my elbows down and slump onto my back until I’m lying flat. A bass line from the club vibrates my ass.

  The softness in Paragon’s eyes is replaced by a barrier of titanium. Behind them is a timeless death. I look to her right, meeting Saber’s mechanical stare. His eyes flex and buzz, analyzing my vitals like a scientist observing a perishing lab animal. Nightshade is gone, maybe protecting the alley from unwanted visitors. I thought she and I were friends.

  A thought strikes like a hammer blow to my temple. Erinas will think I betrayed them. With no record of the Merc crew doing the dirty work and the intel sold to Hubris Security, they’ll think I fucked them. There’s little I’ll have to defend myself. Even if I’m able to convince the Erinas directors that Paragon’s team did the betraying, it will all still come down on my shoulders because I was the one who hired them. I was supposed to vet the team.

  My eyes close. I am a shattered wreck. I have been bested and outmaneuvered. I am a child who’s been crushed in a game rigged by adults. It was all too easy. I’ve worked with hundreds of Merc teams, but this time I let my guard down, and it has cost me dearly. I was too self-focused, forgetting to widen my lens and think about the actions of those around me. I neglected the self-interest of others, the most basic of human motivations discarded. I’m a fucking moron and don’t belong in this world.

  Boots scuff beside my head. I wrench my eyes open to see Saber striding away, giving Paragon a warning look over his shoulder. Paragon squats down low again, her sweet scent somehow worming its way between my barricade of agony. She scans my face, seeking my eyes. What more does she wish to inflict? “I can help you, Desmond.”

  “Thuck off,” I gurgle, words not forming right. “Thucking cunt. End me or go!”

  She seizes my shoulder in one hand, her grip strong. I think to push her away but can’t bring myself to put forth the effort. She squeezes harder, drawing a new place of pain.

  “Desmond,” she says flatly. “Maybe for once in your life you could try not being an asshole.”

  I look at her, and I can only laugh. Red speckles her cheeks. “What else is there?”

  “This, all of this.” She gestures in a sweeping arc. “This life is a game, Desmond. I played my part like you played yours. You commissioned a Merc team to die, and now they’re dead. We’ve all done this before. This time you ended up on the wrong side of the gamble. You got too close, let me in when you should’ve kept your distance. You were too easy.”

  I blink.

  “Look at you now,” she says with a half-smile, running her fingers through my sweat soddened hair. “Never drop your guard and be grateful you’re still alive. You’ll live, I think. I’ve seen people come through much worse. Now you just need to figure out what to do next, keep planning, find a new path.”

  I comprehend her words. My head bobs toward my chest in a new wave of weakness. She reaches into her pocket, fumbling for something. She pulls out what looks like a chip and slides it into my pocket, then gives it a friendly pat. “To cover your medical bills and to get you started with a few Spectrals. It also has my Hubris contact.” She smiles at that last bit as if it was something comical. I conclude she is insane.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Ly?”

  “Why? Because he wants to work with you. When you’ve recovered, I mean. He’s got a job for you.”

  A line from the movie Fight Club emerges from the ether of my thoughts. It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything. I start to smile, but the movement is quickly cut off by a new lava flow of pain.

  She looks away, sparing a glance at her team waiting at the head of the alley where drunken club goer’s stumble past. In here, on the alley’s floor, I am weightless, lost in another planet. My vision sways, but I think her cheeks are going reddish.

  She turns back to me with a sad smile. “I want you to know, Desmond… when we were watching the movie, I was high. Very high on a cocktail of chems. It, that… was nothing.”

  I nod and wonder why she feels the need to further twist the dagger. I’m too tired to analyze it. I close the world. Colors bloom like spring flowers behind my eyelids.

  I open my eyes, and my head lolls. Her visage splits then briefly coalesces into something different, something that makes my eyes go wide. My pulse crashes against my wounds.

  A burning conflagration flares behind her eyes, except they’re no longer her eyes. These belong to the Nordic bald-headed demon from my nightmare. She becomes him. He’s dressed head to toe in roughhewn leathers.

  “What?” I mutter in disbelief. My stomach drops to my knees.

  He steps toward me, earth rumbling in response to his footfall. “Desmond…” His voice is burning leaves, while behind it I detect Paragon voicing the same words. Then Paragon’s words vanish and Prodal’s dominate.

  “The offer still stands, Desmond. You need me. You cling to this life.” Fire crackles. Rage dances in his eyes. “No future and no hope. I offer you more. Don’t you want to be more, Desmond?” His voice brims with impatience.

  “No, no. Don’t need you, don’t need this. Don’t need any of this.” I screw my eyes down tight and shake my head.

  “Falcon Medical are on the way…” Paragon’s voice returns, startling me, and my eyes pop open. “Still with me? You’re not making any sense. You do need me,” Paragon says with a suspect eyebrow.

  The buzz of autocars, a cough, scuffing shoes find my ears. I hadn’t realized I’d lost sound. “Should only be a few more minutes. You’ll be right as radium in a few hours, maybe even with some of your looks intact.”

  “Good,” I manage to grunt, processing her words.

  Prodal was a hallucination, a dream born of blood loss. I sm
ile at my return to the Real.

  “So, I guess our paths will cross again.” Paragon crosses her arms in a strange self-hug and takes a backward step.

  “Oh?” My neck struggles to bear the weight of my head, raising to watch her.

  “Maybe. If you take the job. Hubris Security.”

  My mind is a whirlwind of questions, all of them clouded behind a haze of pain. I’m going to fucking kill you. “Where?” It’s the question I choose.

  “Costa Rica. It’s nice there. Nicer than here anyway. Less rads.” A sly smile tugs at her lips. “Maybe we’ll be there.”

  She’s insane, and I can’t help but let a laugh push through my pain. “I’ll make sure I hire you as the distraction team,” I say, but my words sound like two pieces of bloody meat slapping together.

  She cranes her neck. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I wave her away.

  Sirens signal my reprieve. The team’s van appears with Nightshade behind the wheel. Paragon steps inside without another backward glance. She pokes her head out and raises her voice. “We’re professionals. It’s only business. Right, Desmond?”

  Afterword

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