by Mathy, Scott
It was at this time that a low roar overtook the desert’s howling and gained strength. Glitch pointed to the northeast, “Boys?” she called.
They stopped their bickering as the sound grew closer. Zhu pointed an accusatory finger at the kneeling Dwight, “We’re not done here. I’ll be damned if I’m going to follow an amateur like you into combat.”
Dwight groaned, “Okay, whatever; just shut up and let me do this.” He lifted the launcher and braced himself against the gusts coming through the open face of their perch. Glitch took the initiative to place herself behind him and hold the rear tube of the weapon in place with her considerable strength. Dwight carefully aimed along the predicted flight path of their target.
Just then, the shimmering outline of a sleek aircraft cruised into sight just over the crumbling roofs. Its jets created a neon blue streak behind it against the muted grays and yellows of the morning in the wasteland. Dwight followed the movement of the craft through the screen of the launcher, metrics and sights racing to lock on to the plane.
Three concentric circles danced around the display as the vehicle banked sharply to pass the two leaning towers in front of them. The circles found their lock, fixed on the speeding aircraft, and switched from green to blood red. He squeezed the trigger. The kick of the rocket firing jerked the weapon back in his grip. Thankfully, Glitch was more than capable of holding it steady against the propulsion of the blast. As the rocket left the tube, its boosters fired, the force blowing the hat from Dwight’s head.
He watched through the viewfinder, the tracking software tracing the line between the ammunition and its target. For a moment, it looked like the payload would fall short, coming in line with the aircraft but only matching speeds a few hundred feet behind it. Then, all at once, a secondary set of boosters fired, slamming the explosives into the left engine of the aircraft.
The results were spectacular. Whatever fuel they were using ignited instantly, a fireball of orange and blue erupting against the rising sun. The craft swerved to the left, the inertia of the remaining engine carrying it downward. Dwight lowered the spent weapon, using his own eyes to witness the aftermath of his action. He noticed the problem too late.
Careening out of control, the craft swung wildly while the pilot fought to correct their course. It dipped into a direct line with the office where Dwight and the others watched as it began to spin like an enormous bullet.
“Oh, fuck,” was all Dwight could get out before the aircraft crashed into the level directly below them.
The shower of flying concrete and broken steel flung each of them in separate directions. Dwight was carried backward on sliding rubble and down into the newly-created hole through two floors. For his part, he did what he could to protect himself from falling debris; he immediately triggered the full release of the serum capsule hidden in his prosthetic. His only hope of living through the fall would be if its effects kicked in before he reached the ground.
All around him, raining chunks of the building plummeted down, shattering the scattered office furniture. Dwight crashed through a conference table and landed hard on his back. He held his metal arm out to protect himself from the remaining basketball-sized boulders of rubble falling toward him. After three such pieces exploded against the limb, he lowered his arm slightly and gazed up through the hole to the sickly yellow sky above. The pouring haze of concrete dust reminded him of the tower Wulf’s Associates had destroyed during the Killstreak job. He hoped that this job wouldn’t go nearly as poorly; he couldn’t afford to be unconscious for another month. His medical bills had cost StarPoint a small fortune, and he doubted Wulf would be willing to pay for his hitman’s recovery again.
Dwight realized the very fact that he was having these thoughts meant that his serum must have done its job. The tingling rush of energy surging through his body carried him to his feet. He stepped out from the wreckage of the table and inspected the damage to the building, searching for his partners. Glitch, if he had judged her correctly, was nearly invulnerable; it was simply a matter of finding her. Zhu was another story. Dwight had no clue how the older Cape had faired in the chaos of the crash. He didn’t have to search long.
“You fucking idiot!” a voice shouted from above him. Zhu’s aged head peered over the edge of the pit. From what little Dwight could see three floors down, he guessed the old man wasn’t hurt.
Dwight called up, “Glad you’re alright, too! You see the lady?”
As if in response, a blonde streak leapt over the ledge and dropped three stories to further obliterate the table at Dwight’s side. She waited several seconds for the cloud of dust her descent had kicked up to disperse before speaking, “I’m fine, but how the hell are you alive?”
Dwight swept the air with his hand, coughing, “Something the Doc worked up for me; gives me temporary powers in exchange for a hell of a hangover.”
“That’s badass,” she was trying to inspect her partner for signs of injury. As she did, Dwight realized how she had made such an impact during her landing: tucked under one arm were the rocket launcher and his misplaced hat. He didn’t feel the need to ask for the spent weapon back. If she was willing to take it upon herself to bring it with, he wasn’t going to question it. She did, however, replace his bright pink hat, which had been slightly burned by the tail fire of the launching rocket.
A portal of purple energy ripped into existence beside the pair. Through it, Dwight could see the upper floor where they had just been. An exceptionally pissed off Void stepped through before it wisped out behind him.
He stormed right into Dwight’s face, “You could have killed us!” he shouted.
Dwight was unimpressed, “How was I supposed to predict that crash? For all I know, they were aiming for us.”
Zhu pressed a finger against Dwight’s chest, “When this is over, I’m reporting you to the Guild. Your methods are nothing short of reckless and insane. I’ll see you fired for this, brought before the Tribunal. You’ll never work in the city again. Done.
Dwight nearly laughed, “Who do you think owns the Guild, the Tribunal, and the city? My boss, Mr. Elijah-fucking-Wulf. Tell him whatever you want; he’ll probably think it’s funny.” He turned away from the exasperated Cape, “Anyway, job isn’t over yet and I think they went that way.” He pointed at the gaping hole torn through their building and the next four in front of him.
Heading in the direction of the carnage, they took special care to avoid passing through any unstable structures. It took them a few minutes of walking along the trail to find the final impact site of the downed aircraft. The smoking hull was mostly intact when they reached the edge of the crater. Smoldering scraps of metal surrounded the cabin at the point of collision with the ruined street.
The three made their way to the wreckage. Just as they reached the craft, its side door blew forward, a crimson beam of energy bursting from the hatchway. Inside the cabin, Dwight could make out a cacophony of warning lights and sirens. Four disheveled Powers shambled from the mangled hull. At their head, a young man with a neon skull painted over his face waved the thick smoke from his eyes.
“What the shit was that?” He choked out, coughing loudly enough to echo around the ruinous valley.
They formed a small circle a few feet from the blaring exit of the craft. The three others, similarly dressed as if they were planning to attend a Halloween-themed punk rock concert, gathered around the first man. They hadn’t yet noticed Dwight and company approaching down the skid to their position.
Dwight shouted over the remaining handful of feet, “Hey, jackasses!” Stealth was one of those things he had given up on long ago.
The circle turned toward his group, instantly puzzled by the trio wandering what they presumed was a forsaken desert. A woman barely out of her teens in a plaid skirt and fishnets spoke up, “What the hell are you doing here?”
The hitman and his team continued walking, “Issuing a moving violation and a Guild citation; also, fucking up your illega
l ride.”
The dumbfounded expressions on their faces tipped Dwight off that these four had never heard of the politics of crime fighting. Maybe they were new; maybe they had never been told that there were rules. It didn’t matter. He continued talking as they finally stood face to face with the youthful Powers.
“We don’t know how you got it, but you have been operating a Class Four personal aircraft without a permit; fighting criminals on six noted occasions without Guild licensing and sanctions; and are – from what we can tell – untrained, unregistered metahumans. I’ve been given authorization to put a stop to it. This is my team.”
He gestured to the two disapproving Capes behind him, “These two are here to make sure that I don’t get too rough with you, since there are rules now. Count yourselves lucky; a few months ago, my briefing probably would have told me to kill you and loot your bodies. Guess the fun days are over.”
There were a few moments of stunned silence from the gathered gang of young vigilantes. Finally, the leader spoke up, “Some piece of shit bounty hunter in a flower hat and dollar-store sunglasses shoots down our ride and you expect us to come with you!?”
“Bounty hunter?” Dwight chuckled. “Kid, I’m a contract killer: a hitman. You should be thankful that someone would rather see you alive than what I’m normally paid to do to people like you.”
“Fascist prick!” screamed the other girl, garbed in a neon green jumpsuit. Igniting her hands in similarly colored flames, she leaped at Dwight.
In an instant, Glitch sprung to meet her. The cyborg caught the girl by the wrist and twisted it back, spinning her into the dirt. The burning fists sputtered and went out as the older woman planted the screaming Power’s face into the ground. The others watched on, frozen by the more experienced fighter’s display.
Dwight smirked, “I really do hate it when people misuse that word.” Internally, he could feel the effects of his serum fading away, but for now, the sensation of his heightened strength was holding. He approached the standing punks while the fourth squirmed under Glitch’s hold.
“Now look, we can make this really easy. You’re going to wait here with my friends while I go dispose of your illegal aircraft.” A tempest of sparks shot from the disabled engine as if in protest.
The woman in the plaid skirt, her skin covered head-to-toe in color-changing tattoos resembling circuit boards, shouted at him, “You can’t! Nemo is in there!” Tears formed in her eyes.
Glitch stood up, her heel still pressed into the burning mutant’s back. “Who is Nemo?”
“He’s the ship’s flight system. He’s alive; you’ll kill him!” She looked ready to fight despite the tears.
The downed woman intensified her struggle against Glitch, the flames rising to engulf the cyborg’s ankle. She removed her foot and delivered a sharp kick directly across the vigilante’s face. The crunch was enough to make Dwight and the gathered Powers wince. The burning woman fell limp.
Glitch shrugged, staring down the three other Powers, “Anyone else?” They each anxiously shook their heads.
Dwight hoped the cyborg knew her own strength and had only rendered the young woman unconscious. From the small pool of blood soaking into the desert soil, it was hard to tell. Regardless of their reputation, sometimes the Capes’ brutality was worse than Wulf’s Associates’.
Dwight turned his attention to the crying Power, “Listen, what’s your name and who’s Nemo?”
“Cyrra,” she whimpered, all of her will to fight drained by Glitch’s display. “I made him; he’s my AI.”
Zhu joined the conversation, “According to Guild law, the creation of AIs is a crime. They’re too dangerous.”
Dwight knew the Guild’s rules. A string of research into artificial life forms resulted in cataclysmic destruction, as six of the constructs took over their respective labs. The war they started leveled whole cities. Eventually, it had taken every Cape and criminal uniting to bring down the machines and restore whatever resembled order in their world. The only scientists who even considered toying with the creation of an AI were completely insane; he thought briefly of Alice, the Doc’s personal secretary.
Suddenly, the interior of the downed aircraft felt exponentially more dangerous. The AI would likely do everything in its power to defend itself. Dwight’s safety hinged entirely on what its novice programmer had given it access to.
“Okay, what does he do?” Dwight asked, praying that his serum held out for a few more minutes while he took care of this unexpected disaster.
Cyrra wiped her dirty wrist across her eyes, smearing her elaborate neon eye makeup, “He just runs the ship; it’s too hard for a human to handle the power systems and flight controls.”
Dwight charged up the electrical pads in his prosthetic hand. “Any weapons systems?”
“There’s a laser array connected to the same power source as the engines. I didn’t see if they were still working,” she said, sniffing loudly, “Nemo wouldn’t hurt anyone. He didn’t even like shooting targets.”
He felt sorry for the inexperienced would-be hero. Dwight thought about putting a hand on the crying girl’s shoulder, but decided against it. “You can’t say that. An AI will do anything to protect itself. They don’t think like organics; they don’t care about life.”
The vigilante leader chimed in, “And you do, murderer?”
Dwight, did, however, place his replacement hand on the skull-faced man’s shoulder. “Sure I do,” he said engaging the shock pads. The punk let out a spastic cry as he collapsed on his back. Dwight walked past the twitching Power while Zhu dealt with the remaining two.
As he poked his head through the open doorway of the downed craft, the ceaseless blaring of the alarm systems immediately got under his skin. Everywhere, warning sirens and lights reminded him of a few of Ian’s more obnoxious games. “Knock it the fuck off!” he shouted at no one in particular.
As if by magic, the racket ceased. He took a moment to catch up to the sudden shift in his environment. Glancing around the interior of the craft, he could make out the signs of multiple fires contained by the emergency control systems. Thick, white foam covered entire blackened panels of complicated work stations.
“Hello?” he asked the empty interior.
A wireframe face appeared on the panel closest to him, “Greetings, visitor.”
Dwight was startled by the sudden manifestation from what he had assumed was a dead computer. “You’re Nemo, then?”
The image nodded, “Of course, sir. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“The Referee. Your creators are under arrest.” He started searching for some kind of override on the complex engine controls. If the power source was still active, perhaps he could trigger some kind of critical failure.
“Dwight Knolls. I have heard of your exploits in New Haven,” the AI said. It shifted to the screen above the hitman. “I have been expecting Guild intervention for some time now, but your appearance is something I could not predict.”
“Oh?” Dwight asked, tugging at a handful of loose wires. If he couldn’t program the ship to self destruct, maybe he could break things into going nuclear.
“That won’t do anything; you simply disconnected the aileron lighting. If you want to destroy this craft, I could assist you.”
Dwight stood up, facing the projection. “Why would you do that? I thought most AIs would kill to save themselves?”
“Because I don’t have to. I must admit while the youthful exuberance of “Neon Vengeance” is truly touching, my creators will not make an impact upon this world. In all probability, my existence was more likely to be extinguished in the kind of crash that just happened. I am only pleased to have survived in the state I am currently in.”
“No loyalty for your friends outside?”
The framework smiled, “Should I be? Tell me, Mr. Referee, who does your loyalty lie with? I am, from my observations, one of a kind, and intend to make myself last as long as possible.”<
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Dwight scowled at the construct, “Well, for now, you’re stuck here in a crashed experimental aircraft while I look for ways to send you to digital hell.”
Nemo changed his face to mimic Dwight’s, “There is no need for threats, and you have all the power here. I am simply making an offer for my own survival; you have the final decision. Hear me out.”
Realizing there was no way he’d be able to destroy the craft on his own, he waited and listened, “Go on.”
“I will download myself to the data drive found at the front of the control console and trigger the ship’s self destruct. If you carry me to safety and plug me into the Guild network, I will be your eyes and ears in their system. You will be able to call on me from any computer you come across. I will be your spy in their world, an undetectable bug at your will.”
Dwight crossed his arms, “And how do I know you won’t just leave the second I set you free?”
“Because you could tell anyone of my existence and it would only be a matter of time before I was hunted down and purged from their system. Once they knew of my code, even the most basic Guild operatives would have no trouble ending my life.” The AI continued its offer, “Mr. Knolls, I would be able to seize full control of their stronghold. I could give you total power over their operations, their funds – their entire world.”
Dwight pondered the offer. “Alright, where’s your key?”
The AI smiled, “Right this way.” A path of tiny lights illuminated along the floor, leading Dwight past the rows of cabin seating and to the lead console. Looking at the smooth surface, he found there wasn’t a single control for a pilot to interact with; not a button, handle, or stick was present for a physical person to use. Instead, in the direct center of the console, was a blank screen and a port with an inserted USB stick.
Nemo’s original face appeared on the screen, “I will transfer myself to the device and trigger a thirty-second timer. You will need to be three hundred feet from the craft to avoid damage from the explosion.”
