Backstab (Worlds of Deception Book 1)

by Everet Martins

  “Sure he doesn’t have anyone with him? And I should…” I trail off, waiting for someone to fill in.

  “There might be someone else with him,” Nightshade says to everyone but me. “I ran the video feeds through an algorithm to detect unusual air movement. The other might be cloaked.”

  “Go in the back and hide there, use the crates for cover.” Paragon points down the long and widest hallway.

  “Great!” I clap my hands. “This should be lovely. Pardon me while I go and hide in the farthest recess while you guys go to work.” I shuffle towards the back of the hanger, and no one makes any indication that they want to stop me. Good.

  “Hide behind the big crate back there, its sides are armored.” I turn as Paragon gestures to a crate that sits at the end of the long hallway. I’m nothing but a liability in a gunfight with seasoned veterans. I’m grateful they took me out of it.

  I walk backward to watch as the Mercs slide into covered positions to target the front door. Do they think they’ll simply walk in? I hunker down behind the steel box and poke my head out the side so I can watch. This is a violent fucking world that I’d hoped to never see up close.

  This is the most absurd trap I’ve ever witnessed. It’s too simple. Could the group who devised such a ridiculous ambush really keep me alive long enough to get paid? I shake my head. Hiring these knuckleheads was a mistake. They’ll never be able to penetrate the Wolf Microsystems subsidiary I hired them for. I make a mental note to do a better job researching my teams.

  “He’s here,” Nightshade whispers, her voice clear in the grim chamber. Someone carefully racks the slide on a gun. A throat is cleared. A boot squeaks.

  Could this be the same maniac who butchered dozens in the Hyatt? Is he this dumb? If so, how had he managed to survive for so long in such a lethal world? Perhaps he thinks it’s me who’s dumb enough to hide out in a hangar with all the lights on and a warm car in front.

  Talos and Saber are crouched behind thick-walled crates and have their rifles leveled on the door forming a forty-five degree angle of coverage. Nightshade and Paragon are fifteen degrees or so away from them, where Suro’s line of fire is most likely to be, I think.

  Before I can control my impulse, I rise from behind the shelter of the crate and start to speak. “Is this the best idea? Maybe—”

  Paragon whips around, her eyes wide, clearly urging me to shut the fuck up. Saber shifts to look at her, then grins in my direction. She points to the door, and he gets a new sight picture behind his rifle. I wonder what the psycho finds so amusing.

  The door’s hinges shriek like the damned as the door slowly slides open. Behind it is the haze of a radiated night sky where stars go to die. My heart roars behind my eyes, and every beat slightly distorts my vision. The door opens wider still. I narrow my eyes at that abyssal square.

  Shadows shift, and Mohawk steps into the light, his thin lips parting to reveal his titanium carnivore’s teeth. He hasn’t showered. His body is a carapace of oxidized blood, and the mohawk is flattened in sections. A blade drops into his extended hand, the same karambit, I think. I wonder if it too still has the blood of all the people Suro murdered yesterday.

  I meet his eyes, and I find only death. Everything comes to a grinding halt. No thoughts. No words. He steps inside, and I’m unable to move. I’m supposed to be hiding, but here I am standing in the open. The world shimmers like I’m experiencing a glitch in the Net.

  He growls like a rabid dog and flips his blade around to an overhand grip. “Thank you for making this easy, Desmond.”

  Move! Move! I scream at myself, but my legs feel dead. A new realization dawns. It feels like Saber is sitting on my chest, breaths coming in sharp and quick. The crew wanted me here. I’m in a direct line of sight from the main door. I’m the fucking bait, the distraction. They somehow knew I’d be incapable of keeping my mouth shut. I try to make words and produce only a croak. A stupid placating smile fills my mouth.

  “Too easy,” Suro says, sliding toward me.

  “Hey, dumbass!” Saber calls, drawing his attention. Suro’s eyes snap open wide, and the blade slams into a belt sheath while he simultaneously reaches with his other hand for a holstered gun. Saber and Talos pop up from behind their crates, rifles trained on him.

  “Stop!” Saber shouts and Suro pauses. Saber’s rifle barks out maybe five rounds. They thud against Suro’s chest, and he drops hard. Muzzles flash and gunshots roar from the building’s walls. I plug my fingers into my ears, counting at least a dozen reports as I drop down behind the crate. When it’s finally over, a heavy silence falls over the hangar. I hear someone moaning. I walk in a low hunch, making my way toward the group.

  Paragon and Nightshade have apparently vanished. “Where are they?” I breathe.

  Talos and Saber are over Suro’s body with rifles leveled, watching him suffer his way into the arms of death. I’m about to pass between the crates where Paragon and Nightshade were, when they suddenly appear from nothing. I jump back with a gasp. “Little warning, would you?” I shout, then realize my error. “Sorry. A bit frazzled, not used to all of this. You can go invis too?”

  Paragon grins at me while tilting her head and nodding. “One of my many talents.”

  “Fucking Psionics,” I mutter while shaking my head and starting toward Suro. I rake a hand through my hair, stiff and in dire need of a shower. I stop a few feet away from Talos and Saber, peering between them. Saber looks back at me, his expression impassive. I never wanted to get this close to my work. I liked the cleanliness and abstraction of distance. It was so much easier to send people to their deaths when you didn’t have to watch them bleed out. I would’ve made a good politician.

  Suro’s legs twitch. I count eight holes in his body armor, all weeping dark rivulets of blood. They must’ve used armor-piercing rounds. Half of one cheek and the corner of his lips on the same side have been torn away, leaving a crimson patch that reveals a mouthful of mangled teeth and bone fragments. His tongue works at the missing flesh like a confused snake. Blood trails in every direction over his face like he was hit with a rotting tomato. One of his knees is a shattered wreck with naked tendons flexing at the air.

  “Shit.” It’s all I can say. It might even be eloquent. A part of me pities him while another part says he got what he deserved. I don’t know why I should feel any measure of pity. He did try to kill me and butchered anyone standing in his way. I can only guess how many other innocent people he’s murdered.

  I feel strange standing among these killers, watching a man die. Do they feel anything? I wonder what Suro is thinking. Does he regret the poor life choices that led him here? Is he seeing his parents now? I imagine he is cradling a fond memory of his youth. He wishes he could’ve made his mother proud. But now he’s bleeding his last on the cold floor of an abandoned aircraft hangar. Life isn’t fair, he probably thinks.

  I feel a strange heat behind my eyes, and I turn away with a hard swallow. “Fuck,” I whisper.

  “Stupid asshole,” Saber snickers. “Can you believe he walked into that pathetic ambush?” He gives Talos a friendly elbow, and I am reminded why he is the Merc and I am the String. Saber gives Suro a hard kick and blood spurts from his numerous wounds. “Would you hurry up and die already?”

  Talos sniffs and lowers his muzzle to Suro’s head. A single shot echos from the walls, and a wave of gore splashes out from the back of the assassin’s head. Talos raises his rifle and flips the safety. “Idiot,” Talos says with a sigh.

  “Thought you wanted to use your sword?” Saber asks in a jovial tone.

  “Not worth the cleanup,” Talos replies. “Going to be a pain in the ass to clean up this mess as it stands.”

  Saber turns to face me, regarding me with a cheerful smile. He eyes me up and down.

  “Yes?”

  “I see you didn’t piss yourself this time. Nicely done, String.”

  I cross my arms and stare at the floor, my expression stoic.

  “W
ait. You didn’t piss yourself, did you?”

  “No.” I scratch my head, shifting my eyes up at the fearsome man, maybe more machine than organic.

  “I bet you thought this plan was shit. But look…” he points over his shoulder at Suro’s corpse, “worked, didn’t it?”

  “Mhm.” I nod, feeling as if my legs are going weak again.

  “You look like hell. You alright?”

  “Fine.”

  Saber chuckles and Talos joins him. I can see now that they’re reveling in their victory over what might’ve been a rival. They’ve once again established themselves as rulers of this urban jungle. I can’t help but join them, except my laughter is at the madness of it all.

  My vision again focuses beyond the chuckling men and on Suro’s dead body. A bright reddish pool wells around his figure. I should feel vindicated by this, yet I’m left hollowed out.

  Nightshade comes around a crate dragging a massive tarp. She starts to unroll it flat beside Suro. She gives me a hard glare while she arranges it. “You’re going to help me dump him,” she says in a tone that offers no room for disagreement.

  I backpedal. I’m not in the body dumping business, but at this point, I don’t have much choice. I suppose I technically led him here, and thus, his death is my responsibility. Naturally, I can’t fault the team for helping me live another day.

  With a grunt of discontent, I take my end of the tarp, and we work together to slide the long edge against Suro’s side. I fail to hide my revulsion as we work together to roll him onto the tarp.

  “Up we go,” Nightshade says, pointing for me to take the side of his legs. I ignore cries from my back muscles as we lift him, neglected from years of avoiding weightlifting. I try not to look at Suro’s face and look beyond the bloody tarp.

  “Damn, he’s a heavy bastard,” I huff.

  “All that tech is indeed heavy. I think Saber weighs over three-fifty,” she grunts and for once isn’t talking to me like I’m the world’s greatest moron.

  “How far do we have to carry him?” Nascent sweat forms on my brow. I’m not cut out for grunt work.

  “Just to the car.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we call the organ harvesters to meet us for a pick up. He should net a few thousand Spectrals, assuming we didn’t cause too much damage.” She grins at my ignorance.

  I hadn’t even considered that. “Right.”

  9

  Nightmare

  I’m waiting in the backseat of their shitty sedan when a second object is loaded into the trunk of the car. The suspension groans. “Is-is that another body?” I’m shocked that I missed it.

  Nightshade turns from the passenger seat to look at me. A halo of amber light is reflected from her bald head. “Paragon stabbed the other before she could enter, working her way around the side entrance.”

  “That’s why she was invis?”

  She twists herself back toward the front without a response. I hate when people don’t respond to my questions. I wonder who the second person was. Were they sent for me too? I should check with the Hyatt to see if there were any psycho assholes going on killing sprees there too.

  Saber climbs into the driver’s seat. “You don’t need to come for this, String. Go back inside.”

  I don’t protest, just shrug and climb out. I make my way back toward the enormous dining room table. I lean my palms against it and heave out a tired sigh. What the fuck am I doing here? I don’t belong here. I drag out a chair and sag against its back. The bright light shining from above feels like a razor blade running across my brain. I close my eyes and think about accessing my AR.

  Its allure is difficult to resist. I’m not sure why this is. I want something to do, something to mess with. I need something to calm my nerves, some measure of reassurance that I can get back to my former life. I can’t remember the last time I went so long without checking messages. What if someone needs me? What if there’s another warning from D4GG3R waiting to be read? Reading my messages makes me feel important. It connects me to the world and gives my work validation.

  My legs start bouncing, and I twiddle my fingers. It was hardly days ago when everything was easy. I was a vital component to many of Erinas’ plans. The only plan I fit in now is the one that involves my imminent death.

  I push splayed fingers through my hair, stiffened by sweat and blood spatter. I lower my hand and open my eyes to watch my fingers quiver. I need sleep. A wave of exhaustion slashes at my back. I don’t think I can sleep, but I’m hoping if I close my eyes long enough this nightmare will go away. A scraping sound wakes me from my reverie.

  Paragon is standing at the other side of the table, hands relaxed at her sides as she watches me. She peers at me with a strange interest I can’t discern. I don’t know how she does it. Every time she looks at me, I feel small and as if I’m being examined.

  “What?” I ask her.

  She breaks into a smile. “Nothing.” She shrugs one shoulder.

  “There was another guy with Suro? A guy you killed?”

  “There was. A woman, actually.” Her voice goes soft with an ethereal quality. “How are you holding up?”

  “Just… fucking tired,” I breathe. “Have I mentioned that I like your hair? No? Well, I like your hair.”

  She tilts her head and blinks at me. “Thanks,” she finally says.

  I nod and keep nodding. I can’t think of what to say next. “Is there a place I can go to sleep?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Yeah, of course.” She points toward the makeshift bedroom. “There are bunks in there, there’s a holovid too if you want to use it.”

  “Great. That’s really great, wonderful,” I mumble as I rise to stand. I wait for my legs to respond then march toward the bunks. The edges of the room flex between focused and blurred. Even my eye muscles are shutting down.

  The room’s interior is about what I expected. The beds are stacked in twos on steel frames with chipped black paint. There are some knick-knacks scattered about the floor. Empty water bottles, snack wrappers, and discarded clothing. I peel off my shirt and add it to the top of another pile. I slip off my belt and drag my pants off before sliding into an empty bunk that looks to be the cleanest and most unused. The sheets are more comfortable than they look and feel soft against my skin. I drift off seconds later.

  My dreams are haunted by the gangers. This time they find me and no car comes to offer a distraction. They beat me near to death then haul me off to a back alley organ harvesting operation. They proceed to take my limbs in pieces and don’t have the courtesy to provide anesthetic. The room is lit by candles, and my flesh is removed with a rusted surgical saw.

  Then I’m someplace else and whole again. Limestone obelisks and ancient spires loom over me. I stand in a cobbled street. It looks like a Net construct. The earth shudders beneath my feet. An ear-splitting crack resounds in my skull as the ground yawns open. I fall. I’m spinning and screaming into an all encompassing nothing. The abyss swallows my screams.

  “Desmond.” A male voice is crisp in the vast emptiness.

  “What? Who are you?” Standing on nothing, below me is a male figure wearing what appears to be an ancient Nordic outfit. His clothing looks constructed of a real animal’s leather. His head is bald, and he wears out of style fingerless gloves. Unless I’m mistaken, he might be wearing a necklace of finger bones. I’m both disgusted and intrigued. On his belly is a wound that seems to be chronically bleeding, its edge rimmed in a bluish-white light.

  “I have many names, but you can call me Prodal. It’s easy for your tongue. It’s time, Desmond,” Prodal says.

  I float down to his level, and my feet gently land upon an unseen floor. I look him over. He’s definitely wearing a finger bones necklace. His skin has a ghastly pallor, jawline narrow and forming a pointed chin. “Who the fuck are you? This is my dream.”

  He grins, and his jaw stretches incongruously wide to encompass the majority of his head. Within his mouth,
I see other worlds. My eyes go wide. I see with a high altitude drone’s perspective.

  There is a medieval castle in the middle of the world, surrounded by roads that fan in every direction through endless stretches of forest. To the far east is an enormous tower with dozens of spires emerging from its sides. My vision narrows down to the tower, revealing an ivory bridge swarming what might be wriggling black snakes. A winged female humanoid whirls above the throng, madly cackling. Her body is covered in a wine red armor.

  The image vanishes and is replaced with another. A nude woman stands before me. She would be attractive if her face wasn’t contorted with rage and hate. Her pale skin is drenched with blood as if someone threw a butcher’s bucket over her head. Blonde hair is matted in ropes of scarlet that trail over slender shoulders. Her fists are balled at her sides, and in one hand is a dagger of the same whitish-blue light. Without hesitation, she thrusts the blade into my gut. I stagger backward. A wave of ice spreads out from the blade.

  Prodal’s mouth slams shut with a metallic click. The horrific woman is gone, and before me, the figure naming itself Prodal grins.

  “Wha-what are you?” My voice quakes.

  “I have an offer for you,” Prodal breathes.

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I need to keep him talking so I can figure out how I arrived in this fucked up Net construct. I must be in the Net. It’s the only logical explanation I can come up with. I have too much awareness for this to be a dream.

  I wonder if the Mercs betrayed me. Maybe they’ve jacked me into a server infected with a new virus. I will my AR to open a Net diagnostic protocol to determine where I am, but it doesn’t respond. I surmise that this is in fact a dream then.

  “There is no escaping this. Not a dream, not an artificial construct, not the Net as those in your plane say.” Prodal snickers. “We must hurry though, because time is always burning down. I have an offer for you, Desmond.”