I'm sure Cyber Corp would say I was. The thought would be chilling, but I'm in the zone now. Nothing matters except for the mission.
I hear the sound of footsteps. The door bangs open, and two frag grenades bounce inside the room.
I turn, run, and smash right through the wall. Sheetrock and wooden framework offer little resistance against my cyber-enhanced strength. My momentum carries me into the hallway, where I slam against the other wall, showered by dust and broken drywall. The grenades explode inside the room with a loud blast, shredding the interior. I crouch down, peering through so much flying debris that I'm barely able to see the guards ten feet away. They stumble, rocked by the explosion.
I'm already on my feet, flying toward them. They try to recover, laser sights cutting through the smoke and dust as they aim their submachine guns. They never had a chance. I pick them off faster than they can react, and I'm already running past them when their bodies hit the ground.
I hear gunfire and screams from down below, indicating Rogers has made his presence known. The building rocks from an explosion, followed by the sound of stampeding feet.
I turn around the corner. A lone guard stands in front of a door at the end of the hall, where my enhanced vision detects a small crowd of frantic bodies scurrying around. The guard is tall and jacked like a fanatical bodybuilder. A shiny metal dog's face mask covers his head, and he totes a shotgun that's nearly as big as he is.
Seeing me, he lowers the gun. "A girl? I thought bloody killers were mobbing us. Why don't you come over here and give Daddy a kiss, eh?"
I holster my blaster and spread out my arms invitingly. "Think you can handle me, big boy?"
"Oh, you better believe." Dog Face drops the shotgun, flexes his massive arms, and runs toward me, bellowing like an insane beast.
I dart forward, leap alongside the wall and spring, clotheslining him in the throat. Synthetic arm meets throat with the force of a baseball bat. He gurgles and slams against the floor, clutching his ruined throat. I keep going, using my momentum to smash into the door, buckling the steel and knocking it inward off its hinges.
Scantily-clad women scream, cowering against the walls while the crew leaps to their feet, snatching guns from tabletops and wall racks. They're too slow. I pick them off one-by-one with precisely-aimed shots, purposely leaving one of them unharmed. He takes advantage of the brief moment by racking his shotgun, visibly terror on his heavily pierced and tattooed face. I'm on him before he can raise the weapon.
A savage chop to his wrist breaks the bone and sends the gun flying. My other hand seizes him by the throat and slams him against the wall so forcefully that the drywall fragments, forming a web of cracks around his head. He writhes painfully in my grip, trying in vain to pry my fingers away.
I lean in close. "One chance to talk. Give me what I want, and you get to walk away."
"What…do you want?" he gasps.
"Keno. Where is he?"
His eyes practically swim with fear, but he has the guts to resist, spitting his words through clenched teeth.
"Sod off. You're getting jack all from me, so do your bloody worst."
I tilt my head, a smile tugging the corner of my mouth. "Your funeral."
Still clutching his throat, I pivot and slam him into the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the party scene below. The pane shatters, and we both fall through, tumbling down and smashing into the DJ equipment, collapsing the table in a shower of sparkling glass.
The air hums with bullets fired by Keno's men as they exchange rounds with Agent Roger's more disciplined squad. Ravers mill around in mass panic, trampling each other, running into walls and other people because they still have their eyes covered by malfunctioning holovisors. In the chaos I catch a glimpse of Zen in the crowd, shoving bodies aside using her exoskeleton arms. Brutus is in front of her, protected by the Kodiak armor activated by his chest harness. He guards her jealously, swinging his big, furry arms; every swipe sends bodies flying through the air as if they're weightless.
The shootout ends quickly, with Keno's guards put down or retreating. Frightened partygoers continue to stream out the exits, while others stare and take photos. Rogers shouts orders, trying to get a semblance of order to the place. I leave him to it as I glance down at the man sprawled underneath me. He groans, blinking his eyes in a near-daze. I slap his face to keep him focused. He glares up with red-rimmed eyes, face twisted in pain.
"You…bloody cunt. I think you broke my back."
I slam a knee into his ribcage and use my cyber-eye to scan his body for lethal injuries. "Not broken yet, but I can fix that if you keep giving me lip. One more time: where's Keno?"
He tries to move, but convulses, biting off a painful moan before finally sagging in defeat. His eyes close, and I have to lean in to hear his whispered words.
"Went to jack a shipment. All I know."
I put more weight into his ribs. "That's old news. Where would he go afterward? Talk, scumbag."
"Safehouse a few miles from here. He doesn't tell me anything else, I swear."
I reach down, snatch him by his collar, and hoist him to his feet.
"Show me."
We're back in the chopper, flying top speed to the warehouse our cooperative guest has indicated. I give him a warning glance.
"You better not be lying, or you'll be the first out the door. And I don't think you'll survive the drop."
He grits his teeth, clutching his side. "I'm not lying. Look, I need medical attention. I think I'm bleeding internally."
"You get a nano-med shot if your info pays off. That's the deal."
I glance over at Zen, who looks back with a pensive stare. I know what she's thinking, what she can't say because of the listening ears. She's worried, maybe even scared. Because Dabria will probably be there. And if she is, I'm going to have to fight her. I'm going to have to kill her, or she'll kill me. I don't think I can avoid the inevitable encounter. Even worse, I don't know how to feel about it. Not without answers. Not without knowing why she abandoned me to this fate.
Agent Rogers looks up from tending to a wounded member of his squad. "Two minutes."
I stand up and walk to the door. "Give the snitch his shot. I'll clear the landing zone."
He nods. "We're right behind you."
I look at the monitor, where the warehouse district is visible, growing larger by the second. A sleek airship shaped like a streamlined bird is on the ground, which could only belong to Dabria. Two people are out in the open: Dabria and a man I recognize only from the recent photo obtained from Deep Sleep.
It's Specter.
This is it, then. No turning back now.
I leap out of the door. It's a much shorter drop this time: wind, gravity, ground. I hit my boot thrusters to brake, then hit the ground running. Dabria turns around. To my surprise, her helmet is off. She looks no different than when I last saw her: commanding eyes, bold nose, full lips, chiseled jawline. There is no shock, no surprise visible on her face. She waves Specter back, and he runs for the airship. I pay him no attention because I know one slip of concentration is all Dabria needs to stop me.
I snatch my inferno blaster from the holster and open fire on the run, scattering my shots to compensate for the movement. It makes no difference. Dabria anticipates the move and is already airborne via her boot thrusters. With a snap of her wrist, her forearm alters, panels readjusting to reform as an ion cannon.
Well, that's new.
She's still in midair when she fires. The ground erupts at my feet, the concussive force slamming into me like a massive fist. I sprawl sideways while she lands, skidding across the broken ground. Her cannon continues to fire, forcing me to roll and scramble to avoid the blasts. The stench of seared ozone and charred earth stings my nostrils, and the debris nearly blinds me. I catch a glimpse of her running in zigzag formation like a metallic panther. The helmet is back on, sealing her face. She's a beast of prey now, as I am.
I raise my inferno bla
ster, but she's on me before I can fire. A whirling kick knocks the weapon out of my hands. Without slowing, she spins again, avoiding my counterpunch by dropping low and sweeping my legs from under me. I slam against the ground but ignore the pain, flipping over to land on my feet. Dabria presses her attack, striking with efficient punches that keep me at bay. I notice the cannon has reverted into a hand again, forcing me to realize an unwanted truth.
She doesn’t want to kill me.
I squash the thought ruthlessly, sweeping her blows aside and answering with a shot to her visor to blind her and a hard chop to the neck to stun. Her armor holds up, and she returns with a jab to my ribs and a flurry of shots to the chest that stagger me.
The sound of gunfire and ion rounds clap like a thunderstorm. The circling chopper kicks up sweeping winds and gritty dust as it circles, exchanging shots with Dabria's men in the airship. Only seconds have passed, and only seconds remain before one side has the advantage. No matter how many battles I've been in, that much is constant. There are only heartbeats, heat, and adrenaline.
Then it's over.
Dabria advances. I leap backward, drawing my backup handgun. No hesitation. No mercy. A pull of the trigger, the gun recoils. The round detonates on impact, shattering her chest armor and knocking her several feet back, where she collapses.
I land in a crouch, staring in shock. No way it could be this easy. I've bested Dabria only once in my life, and even then I thought it was a fluke.
I approach hesitantly, wary of a trap. Her body is prone, smoke wafting from the cavity in her armor. I keep my gun trained on her; laser sight trained on her head. She doesn’t move. Blood streams from her nostrils, but the color is wrong.
It's blue.
"Synoid." I clap my hand to the com in my ear, whirling around to wave at the chopper. "Fall back; it's a trap!"
A laser beam crackles like lightning as it fires from the door of Dabria's airship. My chopper is enveloped in sizzling blue energy and tumbles in a tailspin, emergency lights flashing. I hear Zen and the others over the com, yelling as the craft goes down. The failsafe boosters activate at the last second, saving them from a disastrous crash as the chopper slams into the ground.
Dabria stands at the door, gleaming in black and magenta armor with a rocket launcher propped on her shoulder. She glances my direction and nods, an approving smile on her lips.
Then the airship lifts off like a gleaming, metallic raven and thrusts away in a gust of hot wind, quickly disappearing into the distance.
Chapter 9: 5P3CT3R
I can't remember a time when I've been so afraid.
I've worked with some dangerous people, but they were always like Keno. Slighter better than averages thugs. I make sure to steer clear of the hard hitters. People who would look at my ability for purposes other than quick and easy profit. People with agendas.
Like Dabria.
She stalks the cabin like a caged animal, eyes unfocused, lost in thought. I'm pretty sure she's thinking about the encounter between her synoid double and Enigma. The two obviously have a history, although I can't imagine how someone working for Cyber Corp could have something in common with an underground militia leader. Unless Dabria used to be with Cyber Corp. Or Enigma used to be with the DU. Either way, I'm too scared to ask Dabria. She doesn't seem the type to share information with just anyone.
I glance over at Keno, who sits beside me with a shell-shocked expression on his face. I don't blame him. I doubt he ever thought his night would end up like this.
I nudge his elbow. "Sorry about your crew."
He gives his head a regretful shake. "Yeah. Me too, bruv. Lost some of my best mates tonight." His eyes moisten as he exhales a trembling breath. "They were there because of me, you know? And I let them down. Bloody stupid plan. Should've known things would get bollixed up. Needed more time to plan things out, but I just ran with it. That was a Scyther on our tail, Specter. Bloody Cyber Corp. What the hell was I thinking?"
I open my mouth but decide to hold my reply. I feel a stab of guilt, but there's no reason for Keno to know that Enigma was there because of me, not him. The remainder of his crew sits beside him, looking completely subdued. I doubt any of them have ever been so far out of their element before.
Across from us are Dabria's crew, looking far more comfortable. And far more dangerous. Dressed in flowing long coats over sleek combat armor, they are disciplined, quiet, and reserved. Two women and three men, all barely out of their teen years. All with a fanatical fever in their eyes when they look at Dabria. I don't doubt that either one of them would gladly execute us on the spot if she gave the word.
I close my eyes and cautiously scan the airship mentally, but there are no synoids aboard. I'm pretty sure Dabria never meant to take her carbon copy back onboard after she deployed it. It served its purpose, and she wouldn't risk me core-jacking it and putting her mission in jeopardy.
Whatever her mission is.
She looks in my direction as if she can read my mind. Her fingers beckon impatiently. I stand up, feeling uneasy. Although I'm taller than she is, she still manages to dominate, motioning for her to follow her around the corner and into a tiny, cramped room. Once we're inside, she grabs my wrist and snaps a device into one of the ports in my holoband.
I snatch my arm away, staring at the contraption. "Hey, what the hell?"
A vindictive smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "That's a holoband lock. You can access your information, but you can't log into the infosphere. I can't risk having Cyber Corp track you and jeopardize the mission. Don't bother trying to remove it. Your holoband will be irrevocably damaged if any tampering is detected."
Hel. My heart tries to claw out of my chest in a panicked adrenaline rush. "You can't do this to me."
"I just did." She gestures. "Sit."
I look down. The only seat available is a toilet.
"Uh, no thanks. I'll stand."
Her eyes narrow dangerously. I sit on the toilet seat.
The walls are too close, threatening to close in on me. My heart pounds; a throbbing pulse that swells to my head and stays there, beating the walls of my skull. My pores break out in a sweat, and I can barely breathe. Pulling a Chillz pack from my interior pocket, I shakily pop a tab and toss it down my throat. All the while, Dabria silently watches with a judgmental gaze. It's been a long time since I've been the target of that much contempt.
She folds her arms. Her mouth doesn't move, but I still hear her voice in my head.
Are you finished?
My head snaps up. "How…how are you doing that? Is that…telepathy? Or some kind of trick?"
No trick. I'm not that deceptive.
"You tricked Enigma with that synoid. How'd you get a carbon copy made anyway? Those are super expensive."
I have friends in many places. But none of that is your concern.
I wince, shaking my head. "Stop it! Stop talking in my head. How the hell are you doing that, anyway?"
Her lips part, uttering the words by voice this time. "You’re not the only one with special skills, Dean."
"You're like me?"
Her face twists with undisguised scorn. "Make no mistake—we're nothing alike. The only thing in common is our extrasensory abilities."
"So, what does that mean for you? You can read my mind?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing so drastic. I can sense feelings, anticipate thoughts sometimes. And communicate without speaking. I can't read minds or control anyone, thank Allah. If I could, I would be the most powerful person alive. And the most corrupt."
"How many people like us are there?"
She shrugs. "Not many. Atavists are very rare."
"Atavists?"
"Genetic throwbacks. Some strain of DNA leftover from the Imperials, when Aberrant energy caused mutations that gave a small segment of the population various abilities. All tied into what led to the Cataclysm. Our gifts are nothing compared to the Imperials. They were gods. We're simply enhanced slightly abo
ve normal."
"Imperials." I pause in thought. "There's a lot of sectors in Elysia where you can proxy as an Imperial. Superpowers and all that. I've done a few Imperial campaigns as a proxy that had superhuman strength, could shot lasers from his eyes, and could fly."
Her metal-shot fingers drum impatiently against the wall. "Yes, I'm sure it's exciting. And nothing like the truth."
I sigh. "Right. You're not a fan of Immersion."
"No. I'm not. I'm against everything it stands for. Corporate enslavement of the weak-minded, taking advantage of their vulnerability and low self-esteem, goading them into mental enslavement and draining them of every financial resource they own before cutting them loose. Do you know what happens to Immersers that can't afford to get back into hibernation?"
I shake my head, frowning. I never thought about what I'd do if I couldn't raise money. What my options would be. I recall the screams of people turned away from Deep Sleep, dragged away by unfeeling android security bots. And I remember the woman at the shuttle station—the brief reflective moment staring in her crazed eyes like a vision of my future.
Dabria continues, voice slicing like a knife. "Seventy-eight percent of them die within two years. Some die in the act of committing crimes. Others starve to death, unable to function enough to take care of themselves. A large number end up homeless, easy prey for predators to pick off. But most die by suicide. The inability to cope with reality, heartbroken over their exile from what they consider the real world."
I shift uncomfortably on the toilet seat. "Look, that's messed up and all. But no one's forcing anyone to Immerse. It's a choice. You can come and go as you please. It's not a prison, for God's sake."
She smiles bitterly. "You keep telling yourself that, Dean. Add that to the lies you've told to justify your addiction. Like you can quit anytime you want to."
"I can."
"You betray yourself with every word. It's that lack of self-resolve that makes you the perfect candidate for the corporations that control your existence. Let me ask you something, Dean. When you wake from Immersion and have to face reality, what do you feel?"
Syn City- Reality Bytes Page 10
