The lowest level housed The Red Fields event that offered the same layout of a massive stadium with shops and vendors encircling the game area. The level above was much different and much quieter compared to the lower ones, as it was reserved for the High Stakes Sol-Fate card tournament with several private tables for competition along with an area for spectators.
The underground complex of festivities was equal to several game stadiums stacked upon several other game stadiums. In fact, one could call it another city in itself as the additions of lodging, recreation, gambling, food, and nightclubs scattered between the three main levels meant that the site gave off its own sense of life hiding behind metal and concrete foundation under obnoxious colored signage and lighting. The effort to create the complex was nothing short of incredible, either. Utilizing incomplete blueprints acquired from the remnants of Old Earth, the complex was sealed from the Black Cell above. The blueprints suggested that a city, in fact, was once pursued through means of underground refuge. Completed to great extent by Revente engineers, abandoned, and completed by gangers with a juvenile artistic twist, the site of The Games was now a sign of power as much as a symbol of Red Sector. Although the vastly more organized Hasker-sanctioned games was only in its fifth running, the tradition of smaller scale games had been present for the past four hundred years.
Slowly working their way past numerous vendors, vagabonds, and food stands, the team journeyed to the upper-level access so that Kimmy could check in.
“So, remind me again why I can’t just flash my badge around and walk right up to Hasker?” McKenna said.
“Marshals are scary people, that’s for certain,” Kimmy said. “Law-abiding citizens and criminals alike fear an agent who isn’t bound by established laws.”
“And some people just don’t give a shit,” Dill said.
“Yeah. Hasker’s one of those people. His Brokers can’t be shaken down. Wargame just wants to kill anything that isn’t his own gang. So, flashing a badge down here just won’t do it, McKenny.”
Humphries’s eyes widened as he started snickering. “What if I started flashing my machine pistols and spraying some meatsacks?!”
“You’d start a small war leaving us all dead, bolt-head,” Dill said.
“Correction,” Humphries snickered, “the ensuing firefight will more than likely leave my titanium-ceramic composite chassis intact for further mayhem.”
As they reached another lift, a voice from a nearby corner caught Kimmy’s attention.
“Kimmy-Kim-Kimmy…” the man in the shadows said.
Kimmy stopped and spun around to face the man, placing her hands on her hips. “Oh man, oh man, I was wondering who’d recognize me first,” she said.
The rest of the team looked cautiously at the man who stepped forward to reveal himself. He paid dues to his appearance, sporting a blue silk shirt and vest with dress pants and black leather gloves. His blue round-framed glasses hid the expression in his eyes but his bright smile revealed it. The man's shoulder holster gave him away as a possible threat, although Kimmy said almost everyone was armed to some extent. Although he was in street clothes, Hasker's insignia was embroidered on his sleeve. Soon, a few other men emerged from the crowd, encircling McKenna's team.
“Ah, good ol' Peyton,” she said with a fake smile. “I see the nose is… healed. Kinda.” Kimmy shrugged as she wiggled her nose a bit. “Still looks like shit.”
“Courtesy of your kung-fu, warrior princess,” Peyton chuckled as he began to circle her. McKenna and Dill were cautious for any quick movements, but the others in the Hasker team had their eyes set just as firmly on them.
She almost always felt an eerie shiver run down her spine in his presence, especially now that he started to draw closer. “Gosh, you know…” she sighed, placing her hands on her hip, shaking her finger at Payton, “you're exactly the person I really didn't want to waste a look on down here.”
“Oh, Kim, that hurts my feelings, ya know? Does Hasker know you're down here? Maybe me and the boys can take you to him?” He smiled as he gestured toward his team.
She had caused enough damage to Hasker's outfit that the Wordkeepers and Hunters themselves would likely rip out her fingernails for payback. She came to her senses. Only the highest privileged Wordhunters could see Hasker, and Peyton wasn’t one of them. He was a liar.
“Flamboyancy pouring out as always. I guess you've learned a lot from Lindsey.”
“Hmm, I regret to say that I'm no longer a Wordhunter but a simple Keeper now. Let's say after you gave a service to my nose, I wanted a steadier position in the outfit.”
Kimmy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Yeah, I’m sure it was entirely your decision, too. Holding Hasker's shit pan is just about all you're good for.”
“You little runaway orphan bitch!” Peyton shouted as his tone dramatically changed from a calm, conniving manner to an uncontrolled and higher pitched snarl.
He took a brave step forward until he saw McKenna brush his coat away, revealing his pistol. Dill did the same. Ripper growled at Peyton, showing his teeth. Peyton cleared his throat. He laughed nervously as he adjusted his short, tapered hair, becoming dislodged in his recent attempt to collect himself.
“I apologize, Kim. It's just been so long,” he panted as he moved closer. If there was one thing that could be said about Peyton, it was that his highs were too high and his lows were too low.
McKenna eyed the posse behind Peyton, most notably the large man in combat armor that was barely covering his massive and bulky body. No doubt the member who would partake in The Red Fields.
“I'm here today not as a Keeper but a participant in the great spectacles of The Red Sector Games. You're looking at some of the finest racers, gamblers, and fighters in Red before you. This is Team Gideon.” He motioned his hand to the team behind him. “It's my understanding that you have your own team registered with Speakeasy?” Peyton could barely finish his question before bursting into laughter simply upon stating the name of the broker. “The Martian Greys? Really, Kim? Really?”
“Hey!” She frowned. “What's wrong with the name?”
“Oh, it’s not so much the name as it is the broker! I suppose it doesn't matter. I guess all that really matters is what your Greys can do. I'm assuming your team is after the prime events? That is, if you want to stand a shot at the grand prize. I think I can figure out who the racer and who the fighter is.” Peyton looked at Dill and McKenna respectively, as well as Ripper who was still growling at Peyton. He then looked at the bot who was moving his head in well-oiled motions at the surroundings. “The bot's purpose, well, they are illegal for competition. Um, what is his purpose?”
Humphries’s head eerily snapped toward Peyton.
“To be your worst nightmare, should the master allow it,” Humphries said calmly, leaning closer to the much shorter Peyton.
“Cute pet, really, Kim,” Peyton said nervously. “Well, I must assure you that your team stands no chance of victory. However, I can only assume you are partaking in Sol-Fate.” Peyton ran his eyes down Kimmy's athletic body. His conversation was quickly turning sensual, his eye movement and smooth words illustrating his thoughts. “I suppose your victory would depend on exactly what is in that clever little deck you have.”
Peyton ran his hand down Kimmy's thigh to her belt, where her deck pouch was. Kimmy rolled her eyes; her patience was instantly drained by the weasel of a man standing before her.
She quickly grabbed his hand and twisted in a fast motion, sending her free hand into a light jab at Peyton's nose, breaking it. She then pulled his contorted arm towards her and wrapped her right leg over his neck, threatening to break it. She kept her balance flawlessly on one foot as she jerked his arm again.
“That wasn't very polite, Peyton,” Kimmy said, balancing him underneath her leg lock. Peyton was wailing heavily as he started to sniffle a bit of blood from his nose.
“Oh, you silly little girl! My nose!”
“It wa
sn’t doing you any favors, weasel!” Kimmy jested. Peyton eyed his team who was shocked that he was bested by a woman.
“Don't just stand there, you dumb shits!”
Team Gideon drew their pistols which only prompted McKenna and his team to do the same, only faster. McKenna aimed at the big man while Dill aimed his at the Gideon racer. Humphries aimed at them with his dual machine pistols.
“Boredom subsided!” Humphries shouted.
A standoff. A barrel pointed at everyone’s head. The Gideon racer looked at Dill sharply.
“You shoot, we all die,” the racer said.
“No, mate,” Dill chuckled. “I shoot you and a golf ball-sized hole blows out the back of your skull. Fucking try it.”
The racer took a shallow gulp of air as Dill glared at him.
“Now, Peyton,” Kimmy said, calm as always. “The Games haven't even started yet and you're being a sore loser. Be a good boy and tell your Gideon ladies to stand down.” Peyton only groaned from frustration and pain. “Hmm?!” Kimmy mumbled as she tightened her leg on his neck. Peyton remained silent, letting his pride do the talking.
Kimmy sighed in frustration. “Peyton, hold your hand out when I let go or I'll break your neck, ok?” Kimmy let go of his hand while he nervously held it in the air. She began typing a command into her OPIaA as it began to turn from blue to red. All of team Gideon’s OPIaAs flashed red and started to spark and glitch. “Now tell them to stand down or they get their wrists blown off. It’d be neat to see a one-handed fighter and racer in your team, but let's be decent tonight.”
The Gideon team members began to sweat as they watched their OPIaAs go haywire.
“Peyton…!” the fighter said, deeply and furiously.
“Okay, okay, stand down! Shit!” Peyton grunted. The other team lowered and holstered their weapons reluctantly. Kimmy relaxed her leg, dropping Peyton to the floor as he let in gallons of air. She disabled the destruct command on her OPIaA. McKenna and his team holstered their weapons.
“Well, Peyton, I wish you and Team Douchebags the best of luck. Maybe this will make for an interesting story you can tell your little shit kids if any woman lets your pecker near them.”
Kimmy began to walk towards the lift with McKenna and the others in tow until she heard a whimper behind her. She turned to see the racer still looking at his OPIaA, still glowing red and about to destruct.
“Kimmy, we won't bother you, just stop!” Peyton yelled. Kimmy started typing a few commands to disable the command. The racer started to try to frantically take off the OPIaA.
“Come on, Kim, enough playing around,” McKenna said as he watched the racer cower.
“This has never actually happened before,” Kimmy chuckled nervously, still trying to disable it. The racer yelled frantically before letting out a high-pitched squeal as he fumbled to unshackle the tiny but sturdy clamps on his OPIaA.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God!” Kimmy mumbled.
“Show the squishy some humility!” Humphries said as he eagerly awaited the detonation. Kimmy barely managed to deactivate it as the racer threw it off his wrist and onto the ground. The OPIaA turned blue again and, likewise, was rendered safe.
“Good luck in the tournament!” Kimmy blurted out quickly as she closed her OPIaA and turned towards the lift. “Come on, you guys. Let's boogie!” she whispered loudly. The team followed her without hesitation and embarked on the lift to the upper floor.
“I think she’s starting to grow on me,” Dill said and smiled to McKenna as they embarked the elevator.
“And her charming personality didn’t do it when you first met?” McKenna said as the doors closed.
All the while Kimmy had begun catching up with old friends, a watchful eye had been observing. Although The Games were hosted on neutral grounds, Hasker’s syndicate knew it was anything but. Lindsey was still swift and impressive as he stealthily hid behind a news stand and watched Kimmy go up the lift.
2
HOME-FIELD ADVANTAGE
Lindsey moved through the crowd effortlessly and, like that of a ghost, he left no presence. The grounds were packed from person to person, so eyes were everywhere. And while the games required strict neutrality towards other gangs, the Hasker Syndicate operated under a different set of rules: their own. Even at such a coveted event, they were grabbing information secretly, but not forcefully. While Lindsey was supposed to be eavesdropping on powerful Sol-Fate players, getting any tips he could that would be of use to the home team, and being on the lookout for the Golden Bough, he kept his eyes on a particular young woman.
He walked straight through a Wargame group, even lightly bumping into one of them, but his target had him vexed.
“Fuck was that?” the Wargame ganger said as he looked around, but with the amount of people about, it could have been anyone as even Lindsey knew.
Lindsey watched the young woman move through the area with three other companions, and even a dog, but he kept his distance. He put his back to a concrete pillar and leaned for a bit, deactivating the optic camo so his cells could charge. He had been watching Kimmy carefully since she entered the grounds. It was as if everything was put on hold for him once she entered the picture, even his most current orders from Hasker. A runaway, suddenly walking back in the door she broke through.
“Well, what a surprise,” Lindsey whispered to himself.
Kimmy and her companions began talking with Team Gideon, and from the looks of it, it was not a peaceful one. Just as he was observing, the boss himself noticed his neglect in duty.
“The wandering eye breeds self-ambition, Lindsey,” Hasker said through his earpiece, almost bored. He startled Lindsey’s vexed state. “Bad for business. But maybe you can be the first to confirm a trickle of rumors coming to my ear.”
“Yeah, she’s here,” Lindsey said. “She’s got friends too.”
“What kind of friends?” Hasker said, his voice now serious and attentive.
“Dangerous ones, by the look. She's already running into some of the old gang. I can't guarantee they'll all be as happy to see her as you.”
“Was that sarcasm, Lindsey?”
A veteran Wordhunter, employed in Hasker’s services for nearly a decade, Lindsey was one of the best by the syndicate’s standards, although he had his flaws. He bit his tongue.
“You joke around with your bug friends, Lindsey. You will not do it with me, understood?” Lindsey remained silent for a second. In fact, he was probably the best since Kimmy left, yet he was treated like second even still. “Do you know what to do?”
“Same directive since the day she left. But, there’s a complication.” Hasker grew impatient, his breath audible over the channel. “We’re at The Red Sector Games.”
“And? Is discretion an option with you these days?”
“You don't really have to ask those kinds of things.”
“Of course I do. You're a damn lunatic, Lindsey, but somehow you do great work from time to time.”
“I thought you spoke highly of me?”
“That is speaking highly of you. Tell me, what are you going to do?”
“I can't get close to her during Sol-Fate—”
“Then watch her only until you can.”
“Even I’d be wary of the baggage she brought. Might be hard to separate her from a cop and a Marshal.” There was a slight pause as both Lindsey and Hasker pondered, but Hasker made the situation more bearable.
“I don’t care for her friends.”
The implications were grave. The fact that Hasker would allow such maliciousness during the games was shocking, for the risk of a faction war was guaranteed if the ceasefire was broken, but it was a special circumstance.
“Remember, ceasefire rules apply, so nothing loud and nothing seen. And if you fuck up like your most recent job, I'll tie you up in a bow and send your ass to Wargame.” Hasker cut the call.
Two of Lindsey's fellow Wordhunters revealed themselves from their optic camo behind him—Carter and B
lake, his preferred hunting party. They regrouped to discuss their findings, and a busy night it had been so far.
“Any sign of the Golden Bough?” Lindsey asked.
“Nothing,” Blake said. “I guess they don't enjoy the spectacle of the games.”
“They rub me the wrong way. And this little handshake with Wargame… Keep an eye on all of Wargame's known lieutenants here. Make sure they ain't conspirin' anything.”
“You got it, Lindsey.”
“Hey, wanna see something funny, boys?” Lindsey asked. “Remember that Martian that the ambassador blabbed about up in Orange Sector? He's competing.”
“Fancy that,” Blake said. His eyes squinted as he saw who the Martian was accompanied with. “Is that—”
“And he’s on Kimmy’s team at that.”
“What the hell is she doing here?” Carter growled. “The nerve!”
“I’m trying to play it out in my head, but I’ve got orders from the boss himself.”
“The big guy is a Marshal now. We should be on alert if we have to confront him,” Blake said.
“Hmm, presuming he makes it past The Red Fields. Don't let him sway your bets, boys. He’s got a lot to fight in The Fields. He can’t survive. But Hasker wants Kimmy alive, whether she wins or loses.”
“Why not just bag her now and get it over with?” Carter said.
“House rules, remember? Look at those guys with her.” The Wordhunters looked at the transparent lift rising above to the upper-level card parlor. The Hunters took note of the diverse team. “A rare ex-Martian soldier, an Interpol detective, a Combat-Bot, and an attack dog. Now, as much as I like to bag women against their will, I expect it’d be a little hard to approach her now. It seems she’s made some friends for once.”
“You think they feel the same way?” Blake said.
“Who cares? If they’re palling around her they must need something.”
The Bloodlust: (Volume Three of the Virion Series) Page 2
