SWITCHBLADE (Choi Ziyi Book 1)

by Mike Morris

  "What're you doing?" shouted Robert in her ear, tugging her back.

  "We've got to help fight," she screamed back at him as they were buffeted back by the panicking refugees.

  "We will help by fighting," replied Robert, gripping her with both hands. "Fighting them outside, not here in the tunnels. Not by dying."

  "Too many have died because of me." The words caught in her throat as the crowd carried them further away from the fighting. Twenty yards, people scrambled up the ladder leading out of the tunnels, all sense of order long since forgotten. Tears welled in Ziyi's eyes. The gun was a deadweight in her hand. "I have to do something."

  "You are, Ziyi. You are."

  "Shit." She couldn't deny he was right. They were playing her still. She holstered the weapon, squashed the guilt and the anger deep within and headed for the ladder.

  The screams and the gunfire grew closer as they climbed and tears fell down Ziyi's cheeks. She swore under all the Heavens the dead would be avenged. She wouldn't forget any of them.

  The ladder came out behind a warehouse in Chengtu Street, a block or two from the harbour. Flyers and drones zipped in and out of the smoke-filled sky above. The sound of roaring flames told them that the City burned. APCS rumbled down the harbour road, sirens wailing, but still the chatter of occasional gunfire could be heard indicating the battle for the City still carried on.

  Once out in the open, it's inhabitants sprinted in every possible direction, eager to put as much distance as they could between their home and the police. Ziyi followed Robert down the side of the warehouse, past scurrying rats and rotten garbage. The darkness of the alleyway provided some security from the eyes above but they both knew they had little time before the drones picked up on the running bodies.

  APCs blocked up the entrance to the Foo Lum Fisherman's Wharf, splashing every surface with blue and white light, so they cut further in until they found a staircase leading up-Level once more. They ran hand-in-hand up the steps, away from the madness.

  They only stopped when they were eight levels up and ten blocks east. Ziyi waited as Robert held onto a wall, fighting for breath, his shirt soaked with sweat.

  "Been a long time since I've run like that," he managed to say. "Happy not to have to do it again if that's okay."

  "I can always leave you here," replied Ziyi, waiting a moment to smile so he knew she was joking.

  "So what's the plan?"

  Ziyi gazed out over the harbour. The City burned with only the Heavens knew how many dead beneath the water. Rui had created Hell on Earth. "We stop this."

  24

  Wing

  Wing didn't want to die. Didn't want to die. Didn't want to die. Didn't want to die. The thought ran through the splinters of his mind as he desperately tried to hold his consciousness together. Swimming through data streams used to make him feel like a god, but now he was no more than an ant underfoot. If only there was something to hold onto, something he could anchor himself. But there was nothing. Nothing.

  With each passing heartbeat, he could feel himself dissolving. Parts of him floated away in the white, lost in the limbo, forgotten. He screamed in desperation - or at least he thought he did, for he had no voice, no mouth. A thought without a body.

  If only he knew what they were looking for. He'd tell them everything, anything, even though he'd done nothing. Perhaps he had but that knowledge had been lost. He didn't even know what he knew anymore. He just didn't want to die.

  Thoughts and memories flashed past him as he fought against the current like a fool trying to stop the ocean. Things long forgotten, mixed with moments that still burned fresh in his mind, sped past. Dissolving into white. Dying lost and alone.

  Wing didn't want to die. Didn't want to die. Didn't want to die. Didn't want to die. White. Pain. Nothing. Like dust in the wind, his life drifted from him. He'd scream if knew the words to cry out. Stop. He felt the pull and had nothing to fight the tide. Scream. Lost in the white. Just the pressure filling his mind with nothing.

  White.

  The world switched back on. After the white, the room threatened to overwhelm his senses as his mind buckled with the information feeding back into it.

  The interrogation room. Lok with that evil smile of his. The guards with faces hidden behind the black visors -- soulless death.

  "Wh...wh...wh...urgh." He dribbled as he tried to speak.

  A technician walked over to talk to the man behind him. "We have what we need."

  "And?" replied the voice.

  "They discovered Guangzhou and Win Li and Rui's involvement. No more. And there's been no contact with anyone else. We reached them in time."

  "Good. Good. All manageable. Shut down the research station and dispose of both of them."

  "What?" spluttered Wing. "But I don't know anything. Won't say anything." He looked over at Song.

  "Your death hasn't got anything to do with your innocence. It's about containment. Damage control."

  A guard stepped forward, raising his rifle. All Wing's concerns disappeared as he saw his helplessness reflected in the man's black visor. He closed his eyes, tensing, and waited for the shot. He heard a clock tick somewhere. Someone laughed, then hands grabbed him. The neural connector jacks were pulled free. He heard the handcuffs and ankle shackles snap undone before he found the courage to open his eyes again.

  Lok watched at him with a mix of bemusement and disdain. "We're not going to do it here, you fool. The mess you've already made is bad enough. We already have your shit over the floor. We don't need your blood and brains to clean up as well."

  Guards hauled Wing to his feet. His ankle screamed in pain, and Wing screamed with it. With one guard leading the way, they dragged both Song and Wing from the room, leaving the voice and Lok behind.

  Wing shivered in their arms as they marched down the corridor. He didn't care that he was naked and covered in his own faeces when they passed anyone. He didn't care that he sobbed freely in front of everyone. He was a dead man, and any shame would die with him.

  "For fuck's sake," said the guard holding his left arm. "Will you just shut up? Have some balls."

  "He came into the world mewling — might as well leave it the same way," said the guard to Wing's right. "Every coward's right."

  "Leave him alone, boys." The guard in front lifted his visor to let the door lock scan his retina. "He doesn't need you two giving him a hard time before you put a bullet in his brain." The doors popped open and they dragged Song and Wing into an elevator. The guard pressed the button for sub-basement 12 as the others pressed in closely behind.

  "At least I don't have to listen to him much longer. Much less smell him. Haven't seen someone shit themselves like that since that kid last year," said the one of Song's guards. "At least mine's unconscious. Makes it easier."

  "She's a looker too. Maybe we wake her up first and have some fun before we kill her. Send her off with a smile on her face," said another.

  "Thought your style was to fuck 'em only once they were dead," said the lead guard, getting laughs from the rest.

  "You leave her alone," spat Wing.

  "Bit too late to grow some balls, boy," said the guard to his left. "You just worry about yourself."

  As Wing dropped his head again, he noticed the holstered sidearm. The conversation continued above his head. One voice merged into another's. He didn't know who spoke — didn't care.

  "Try not to enjoy yourself too much, eh. We're here to do a job."

  Wing brushed his fingers against the holster. No one noticed.

  "They're both fucking traitors. Don't deserve any sympathy from me. I get told to shoot them, I shoot them."

  "'As the Emperor commands and all that, eh?"

  The elevator shuddered to a halt, the doors opened and the guards resumed their march. They took Wing and Song deeper and deeper into the facility through long, silent corridors. Wing dreaded to think what lay behind the locked doors they passed or which one waited for him.

&nb
sp; He looked at the pistol again. So close. If only he had the courage.

  They stopped at a set of double doors. They hissed open with the sound of a dying gasp. Warmth hit Wing's skin but it didn't bring any comfort. He stuck out his feet in an attempt to halt their entry, but his broken ankle screamed in protest and the guards barely broke stride.

  The room was dark and stunk of burnt flesh. A furnace sat in the far wall, a small flame licking behind a charred grill.

  "No! No! No!" Wing thrashed in the guard's arms, but couldn't break their grip.

  "Don't worry, it's nearly over," said the lead guard as he walked over to the furnace. He pressed a button, and the flames leapt to life as they raised the grill.

  "Please, I'm innocent. Please let me go." Wing slumped forward, and the two guards had to move closer to keep him from falling to the floor.

  "Die like a fucking man," snapped the guard to his left. His pistol brushed Wing's hand as they manhandled him. He stretched out his fingers, wrapped them around the pistol handle.

  "Bring him here," ordered the lead guard.

  As the others stepped forward, Wing yanked his arm free and snatched the pistol from the holster. He tumbled forward, twisting his body as he did so, and pulled the trigger. At such close range, the bullet tore through the guard's stomach. The boom of the gun pounded Wing's ears, but he kept pulling the trigger. He hit the floor hard and swung the gun towards the right-hand guard, pumping bullets all the way. The guard's head snapped back as a bullet took him through the chin.

  Wing rolled over to aim at the lead guard as the soldier raised his rifle. Wing's first shots went wide, ricocheting off the wall and furnace, but he got lucky with the third.

  The other guards had dropped Song and were reaching for their own weapons. Wing had no idea how he managed to get the first shot off. A bullet caught a guard in the chest, dropping him to the floor. The other guard though was faster, and centred his rifle on Wing's forehead.

  Wing shut his eyes, and just squeezed the trigger of his pistol. Again and again. He jerked with each boom of the gun, the noise terrifying. It was only when he heard the click of the hammer hitting an empty chamber, he found the courage to open his eyes again.

  The bullet-riddled corpse of the guard stared back at him. Gun smoke drifted across the room. Blood was everywhere. The roar of the furnace fought to be heard over the ringing in his ears and the pumping of his heart. The rest of the guards lay scattered around. Dead. The fuckers were dead. And he was alive. Holy mother of the Heavens, he was alive.

  Then a guard, slumped against the wall, moved. One hand was pressed against a hole in his chest as he struggled to bring his rifle to bear on Wing with the other.

  Wing screamed in terror, pulled the trigger once, twice, three more times before his mind accepted he was out of bullets. Panic fuelled him as he crawled towards the guard. He had to stop him. Kill him.

  The guard's rifle wobbled towards him as he grasped the man's leg, and crawled up his body, all the while praying that the guard wouldn't fire. He clambered up the guard until he stared at his own reflection in the black glass of the man's visor. He could see his own eyes bulging out, veins popping on his neck. He screamed again, and then smashed his empty pistol into his reflection.

  Screaming obscenities, he pounded the glass, venting all his fear and fury. Spit and blood flew from his mouth as he struck again and again for all his was worth, and only when that was spent, he stopped. He panted for air as dead eyes, surrounded by pulverised flesh, stared back at him through the shattered helmet.

  "I think he's dead," said Song, her voice no more than a whisper.

  "Fuck." He looked at the dead man in his hands, then at Song. "Shit."

  "Didn't know you had it in you," she said, pushing herself upright. Little spots of red freckled her cheek.

  "Neither did I." He sucked air into his lungs, shocked at what he'd done. Shocked that he was still alive. He looked from one corpse to another. Not as shocked as the fucking guards though. Those bastards never saw it coming.

  There was so much blood everywhere. On the floors, on the walls, on him. Virtually every inch of his skin was covered, but for once, none of it was his. His ears rang from the gunfire and cordite burned his nostrils, but he was still alive.

  He sat up and his stomach lurched. He sucked in more air as the room spun around him, and then vomited over the dead man in front of him.

  "Some fucking hero," he said, as he wiped the sick from his mouth.

  "Hey, you did good," said Song. "We're still alive and that's all that counts. Where the hell are we? Last thing I remember is being tasered outside the love hotel."

  "We got picked up by government troops. Hauled in front of someone. I never saw his face. He... they extracted everything from my mind. I thought I was going to end up a vegetable. It was so horrible." His hand strayed to the port at the back of his head but he was too afraid to touch it.

  "What did they want to know?"

  "Wanted to know where Ziyi was. If she was alive. Wanted to know what we'd found out when we hacked in. Who'd we'd told." Wing took a deep breath, still not sure if he could voice what had happened. He looked Song in the eye. "He's behind it. The voice. All of it."

  "And you didn't see who it was?"

  "No. The only one I saw was a man — Lok — who'd tried throwing me off the escalator earlier." Wing shivered at the memory. "But they knew everything already. Rui, the facility at Guangzhou, our innocence." He pulled a water bottle from the dead guard's belt and took a slug from it to wash away the taste of vomit from his mouth. "But it was someone high up. Who else has the power to fake Win Li's death? Keep Guangzhou operating off the books? Get Rui to do all the dirty work?"

  "Shit."

  "What do we do?" Wing stared at Song, surrounded by the dead as the hopelessness of the situation weighed down on him.

  "First things first, we get out of here. Simple as that." Song stood up, wavered on her feet for a moment before she got her balance. Her hand went to her side and came away red with blood. "After I bandage this hole, that is."

  "I didn't do that, did I?" asked Wing.

  "I think we can blame our friends for that." She rummaged through one of the guard's belt kits, found a basic first aid kit, and removed a small tube of skin filler and some bandages.

  Wing watched her patch herself up with a skilled hand. "Do you know what to do with a broken ankle?" he asked.

  "Not much we can do except wrap it tight to limit the movement. Normally I'd tell you to keep your weight off your foot but that's not an option. We need you to walk out of here as normally as possible." She delved into the pouch once more. "Luckily enough we've got this." She held a small vial, with a needle at one end. "Metamorphine Contraine. MTC. The Soldier's Friend. One shot of this and you'll be able to run a marathon with two broken ankles."

  "I'm not going to say no to that." He had to stop himself from grabbing the needle from her hand. He couldn't think of a more perfect time to get high.

  Luckily he didn't have to wait long. Song slammed the needle in his thigh. He squeaked in pain, but the drugs hit his system and suddenly he didn't give a shit. The pain deserted him, chasing away the fear at the same time. A warm glow spread through his body and he could feel all his strength returning. He tried not to watch Song as she dressed his ankle. Flames from the furnace coloured her skin. More endorphins hit his brain as he wondered if he could ever love anyone more.

  "It's the drugs," said Song looking up with a smile.

  "What?"

  "You don't love me. It's just the MTC working. Gives you all these feelings so you will carry on helping your unit, despite your injuries."

  "What?" How'd she know what he was thinking?

  "You're talking out loud. Don't worry. It's the drugs. You'll calm down in a minute."

  "Oh." He'd feel embarrassed again if he didn't feel so damn good.

  "Don't worry about it. But let's get dressed just in case you get any other ideas." So
ng left him to strip one of the guards of his uniform.

  Wing wobbled over to another corpse and stripped that too. He used another water bottle to wash away the vomit and urine off himself first. It wouldn't matter how good his disguise was, he'd never fool anyone if he stunk of piss.

  Once he was as clean as he was going to get, he quickly dressed. It was good to wear clothes again. Safer. Almost human again. He was still alive. For now. And, as long as Song was with him, he had a chance to stay that way. He fastened up the guard's gun belt around his waist and checked the pouches for more ammunition, or so he told himself. He was happy to see there was a first aid kit on it too, with another vial of MTC. He left it where it was and concentrated on reloading his pistol with a fresh magazine but deep down he knew he was happier having that than the weapon in his hand.

  Song stood before him in her stolen guard's uniform. She gave him a look as if she knew what'd he'd been thinking but she said nothing.

  "What do we do with the bodies?" said Wing.

  "Burn them. It's what they were going to do with us."

  Wing looked at the furnace, shivered despite the heat as he imagined his own body being dropped in there. Could so easily have happened.

  Song dragged the first body over to the opening and he helped her haul it over the edge. The flames took hold of it immediately, almost snatching it from their grasp.

  By the time the third body had gone in, Wing seated with exertion, but the MTC was certainly doing its job well. He felt no pain while his energy levels grew by the second. It was amazing stuff, whatever it was.

  "Hold on a minute," said Song when they reached the last guard. She pulled out a knife and straddled the body.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Retina scan. We won't get ten yards without a secure eye to use." Song removed the man's helmet, revealing an ordinary the man's face, like a million others Wing would pass on the streets. Couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Probably had a wife or a girlfriend who loved him. Parents who were proud of him. Certainly not the face of a monster.