Knight in Cyber Armor

by Bard Constantine

  Chapter 10

  Jett descended into the darkness of what used to be the famed subways of New York. That was ancient history. In Neo York, what remained was called the Underbelly. Dark, perilous caverns of vice and violence. The Underbelly was inhabited by fugitives, drifters, gangs, hardened criminals, and thrill seekers looking for contraband, Haze clubs, or any of the numerous underground casinos, vice dens, or fight rings.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs, entering the half-crumpled remains a subway lobby. Vines hung from the ceiling and threaded across the walls. Water streamed down from numerous leaks, pooling on the floor. Moans and cries rippled around him.

  Arms stretched out, reaching for him, grabbing hold on his clothes, tugging. He stood in a sea of gaunt, grimy, undernourished bodies. Beggars, wasted from the grind of life, driven from above the city to the underground where no one could see them die. Junkies, eyes burned out from drug use, arms riddled with needle marks, teeth rotted, gums blackened. Some hissed at him, thrust out fingers hooked like claws.

  Jett tapped the back of the Vigil headgear. The helmet slid into place around his face; the g-spans glimmered with blue light. The crowds of living dead cowered back, scrambling away from him. He strode through their midst, unhampered.

  Proto's voice buzzed over the com. "Warning. You are currently down to twenty-percent on power. Your g-spans are also nearly depleted of k-darts. Use of pulse and electric weapons sparingly is recommended until you recharge."

  "Great. How do I recharge?"

  "You must return to a Vigil safe house. Unfortunately, I've been locked out of the system, and cannot gain access to the network."

  Incognito. Guess making him mad wasn't a good idea.

  "We'll have to make do until we come up with something. I've got the railgun for backup."

  He walked down a flight of stairs into a full-blown rave. Laser lights flashed across the darkness of the makeshift club; a throbbing beat reverberated across floor and walls. A thick, hazy mixture of vape smoke and machine-generated fog hung in the air.

  A wild mix of people in costumes and masks bounced and gyrated on the dance floor. Men and women hung in cages, grinding against each other. A band in metallic outfits and multicolored hair rocked back and forth on a stage built from machine parts. Flames shot from exhaust pipes as they screamed and attacked their instruments with violent ferocity. The air was thick with the scents of sweat, alcohol, and smoke. The blaring noise was automatically reduced by the helmet's receivers.

  No one paid him any mind as he pushed and shoved his way through the thick mass of carousing bodies. He was just another man in a mask, nothing out of the ordinary to the crowd. A pair of giggling women dressed in feathered masks and little else clung to him, stroking his chest and arms. He shook them off, finally clearing the mob.

  He stepped onto the subway tracks, where flickering neon lights barely illuminated the gloom. Trudging down the tunnel, he occasionally stepped over bodies that were either sleeping or dead. Drunken partygoers paired off in the darkness or staggered about like zombies, laughing and talking to the air. Jett ignored them, scanning the walls for sign of his quarry.

  Coming upon a train of rusty, abandoned subway cars, he peered inside. People were hooked up to spherical contraptions that covered their entire heads. Wires led to computer consoles, where proprietors manned the controls. The word HAZE was lit on one of the cars in bright pink letters.

  A sharp-nosed, leather-clad man in cyberpunk gear gestured to Jett. "Wanna hit that Sensync, my man? First trip is free. Best high you ever been on, guaranteed."

  Jett stepped forward for a closer look. A woman was strapped to a reclining chair, the apparatus secured over her head. Her body occasionally convulsed, jerking at the restraints. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her skin.

  "What's she seeing?"

  The punk grinned. "Memories. Fully tangible, indistinguishable from reality. All senses engaged. This is the real deal, brother."

  "Whose memories?"

  "Does it matter? It's the experience they come back for. Like living in a movie, but better. Got all kinds of trips. Gay-curious, but don't want no one to know? Get all the action you want. Wanna experience what it's like to be caught in a megastorm? Got that. Got real kills too, man. I'm talking people, baby. Shoot someone in the head and never get charged for it. C'mon, give it a whirl. It'll open your mind to a whole new level of existence."

  Jett edged backward. "Maybe later."

  The punk flicked his chin with his fingers in an insulting manner. "Yeah, whatever. Nice helmet, scuzzy."

  Jett shook his head and continued down the tunnel. The light dimmed even further, but the visor compensated with night vision. He approached a group of toughs spray-painting graffiti on the wall. A crown dripping blood with the initials CK underneath.

  Crimson Kings.

  "Nice work. You guys should quit being scumbags and just be artists. Scumbags are going out of style in my town."

  The toughs turned around, faces obscured by painted gas and hockey masks. One of them gestured with a metal pipe. "Your town? The hell you 'posed to be?"

  Jett activated the magnetic tow option on his g-span, snatching the pipe from the tough's hand to his own. He slowly rotated it, staring them down while he triggered intimidation mode on the holographic panel. The setting made his visor glow red and deepened his voice to a guttural growl.

  "I'm the man who's gonna break your skulls if you get in my way."

  The toughs took nervous glances at each other. Finally, the leader gave a wild yell and charged.

  Jett whipped the pipe forward, bashing it across the tough's head with a hollow ringing sound. The man dropped to the ground without a word. Jett looked up at the others.

  "Anyone else?"

  They shook their heads.

  "Naw, bruh."

  "We cool."

  "Yeah. We peace, no beef."

  Jett stepped closer at the fourth tough. The smallest one, cowering behind the others. Jett pointed a gloved finger. "I know you. From the alley. You know—when you were about to attack a fourteen-year-old girl. You're Slick. Kane's little buddy."

  The other Crimson Kings stepped aside, leaving their friend exposed. He took a fearful look around, then back at Jett. Sweat slid down his face. He didn't see Jett. He couldn't. He saw someone else.

  He saw Vigil.

  Jett jerked a thumb at the other toughs. "Take a hike."

  They ran, bumping into one another in their haste to escape. Jett turned his attention back to Slick. "Remember me?"

  "Big mistake. Never seen you."

  Jett snatched him by the collar, hoisting him off the ground. "This will go better if you tell the truth, punk. You and Kane were the only ones who got away."

  Slick shook his head. "Don't know no Kane."

  Jett punched him in the stomach.

  Slick gagged, face crimson. "Wait. Remember now. Yeah…was in alley."

  "Then you must know I paid a little visit to your warehouse. And what I did to your friend."

  Slick whimpered, tears welling in his eyes. "Yeah. You k-k-killed him."

  Jett hesitated, lowering Slick to the ground. "What are you talking about?"

  "Convoy hit. Kane, two pigs dead."

  "That wasn't me."

  Slick's eyes widened "No?"

  "No. You think you're scared now? Just think of when whoever killed Kane comes after you."

  "Didn't do nothing."

  "You didn't have to. Someone's cleaning up. Only a matter of time before that person thinks about you and finishes the job."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  Jett slapped a datcom in Slick's trembling hand. "Keep this on you at all times. When I call, you better answer."

  "What I do meantime? Where I go?"

  "Where any rats and roaches go when they don't want to be found. Lay low somewhere. You know the drill. Meantime, point out where I can find Diabolis' little hideout."

  "Diabolis?
What you want with—"

  "That's not your worry. Just tell me where they are."

  Slick pointed down the tunnel. "Half-mile down. Their turf. Even CKs don't go down there."

  "I'm not a Crimson King."

  "Yeah, but they hired out Joe Blow for muscle…"

  "I got muscle. Get outta my sight, Slick. You survive a night or two; I'll give you a call. We can talk about getting you out the crosshairs. But for right now, get lost."

  Slick took a few hesitant steps, throwing furtive looks over his shoulder. When he saw Jett wasn't following, he took off full sprint in the opposite direction.

  Jett turned and headed into the gloom of the tunnel.

  For a stretch, it was only his echoing footsteps and the drip of water from the countless leaking pipes. Moss and slime covered the walls; vines swayed from the ceiling. Then light appeared in the distance. The clamor of music and voices grew louder.

  Jett stepped into another abandoned station, this one marked in bizarre runes and tribal designs. Faded banners fluttered from the ceiling, and torches hung in sconces, illuminating the chamber. A large staked heart was painted on the entranceway of the station depot. A crowd of men and women turned from warming themselves over the flames from a large metal trash can. All of them had their heads shaved to a v-shaved crest and sported black bandanas tied around their arms with the Diabolis emblem proudly displayed. Upon spotting Jett, they swaggered forward, brandishing assorted stabbing and bludgeoning weapons.

  "What we got here?"

  "Someone lost."

  "Yeah, major lutz. Gonna pay, though."

  "Big mistake, cabron."

  Jett unslung the railgun from over his shoulder and aimed it. "The only mistake tonight is not getting out of the way." He took advantage of their momentary confusion to pull the trigger, scoring a direct hit on the trash can. Fire exploded, showering over the panicked toughs. They screamed and yelled, beating at the flames.

  Jett sprang into action.

  No need to waste power reserves. The powered lead in his gloves made his punches more damaging, and the butt of his railgun made for an excellent melee weapon. He struck in quick succession, making the most of his combat training to weave and spin from one combatant to the next, putting power into his punches and kicks.

  He slammed his boot into a tough's knee, then bashed him in the face with the rifle butt. Spinning way, he dodged a clumsy jab and counterattacked with a flurry of chest shots and a brutal uppercut. Someone tried to cut him with a long dagger. The coat's fabric sliced open, exposing the armor that took the brunt of the stab. Jett grabbed the wrist, snapped it, and head-butted the attacker, dropping him to the gravelly ground.

  A tattoo-faced woman whipped out a semi-automatic and aimed. Jett activated the magnetic tow with a snap of his wrist, snatching the gun from her hand. He disengaged the magazine and hurled it back, striking her right between her eyes.

  The toughs closed in, wild in fear and desperation. Shout and screams of pain rang in the air. Jett's armor absorbed punches and dull impacts while he dealt out punishing damage in close quarter combat. From one to the next, he struck, twisted, dodged, and struck some more. His chest was on fire from the effort, his body slicked with sweat.

  Inside the helmet, a fierce grin widened across his face.

  The last man standing uttered a wordless shriek and ran for the stairs. Jett waited until the tough nearly made it to the top before firing a thin cable, wrapping the man's legs up. He tripped and rolled back down, groaning when he landed at Jett's feet. Jett finished him with a casual electric blast.

  The doors to the station compound hissed open. A large silhouette filled the entranceway.

  "Looks like you got your workout," a deep voice rumbled. "Now I'm gonna get mine."

  Jett stared at the brute that stomped down the stairs. He was sharply dressed in a custom pinstriped suit with a fedora tilted on his massive head. His face was a cruel mockery, consisting mostly of jutting forehead and snarling mouth. Dark eyes glimmered somewhere under the shade of his brow. His skin was the color and texture of rust, giving him the appearance of an old metallic statue come to life. But what most shocked Jett was the man's size. At least eight feet tall, with massive bulk in addition to his height. He looked to be around five-hundred pounds of heavy muscle. He glammed a beefy fist into his palm with a sound like a thunderclap and grinned with gleaming-white, unevenly spaced teeth.

  "The name's Joe Blow. I'd tell you to remember it, but you won't be able to after I'm done."

  Leaping from the stairs with the agility of a much smaller man, he sailed through the air with a bellowing roar. Jett rolled to the side as the giant landed. The ground shuddered from the impact. Jett sprang back to his feet, g-spans glowing. Joe Blow was a massive blurred shadow, rushing with shocking speed. A fist larger than Jett's head shot forward, striking him the force of a runaway car collision.

  Pain exploded, so intense it was bright, nearly blinding him. He was weightless for a frantic second, flying across the pile of bodies he had just left behind. When he struck the ground, he skipped across the broken concrete before falling over the edge of the station back onto the tracks.

  The world flickered on and off. He groaned, shaking his head as he tried to rise. Something in his chest felt broken. Every breath stabbed his lungs like daggers. Warning lights flashed inside of his helmet. Proto's voice blared like a shout in his ringing ears.

  "I can't gauge the exact amount of damage without a complete set of armor components, but I estimate you might have suffered a number of contusions and cracked or fractured ribs from that blow. Evasive maneuvers recommended."

  Jett coughed, wincing from the agony. "Yeah. No kidding."

  Something massive landed on the tracks. A towering shadow loomed over him, laughing like rumbling thunder.

  Jett gritted his teeth. "Proto, give me everything you got into the spanner pulse blasters."

  "Charged and ready."

  Joe Blow's enormous hand reached out, seized Jett by the coat and hoisted him with ease. "Not out yet? Good. I'm not even warmed up." His fist drew back, clenching muscles so tight that his shoulder busted out the seams of his suit with a ragged tearing sound.

  Jett fired pulse blasts from both gauntlets directly into Joe Blow's chest. The air flashed with brilliant blue light, the scent of burning fabric fouled the air. Jett gritted his teeth and discharged the blasters until his reserves were spent.

  The smoke dissipated, revealing Joe Blow's soot-stained, hideous face. A large hole sizzled in his suit, exposing his muscled chest. The only visible damage was a reddish-black bruise from the force of the blast. He glanced down and grunted.

  Then he looked up and grinned, displaying a massive set of clean white teeth.

  "Thanks. I had an itch right there."

  He followed the statement with an uppercut that knocked Jett completely off his feet. He landed on his back a dozen yards away. Joe Blow's fedora flew off his hairless head when he jumped, clearing the distance and delivering a kick to Jett's midsection that sent him skidding across the gravel. He barely felt it. Pain was everywhere, a cocoon of torment stabbing like barbed spikes from his head to his toes.

  Joe Blow stalked over, every step shaking the ground. "That's for ruining my suit. You know how much I gotta pay to get 'em made? Here's a clue: they ain't cheap." He scooped Jett off the ground like a child might do a broken toy. "And this is for trespassing and beating up my crew."

  His thunderous punch exploded against Jett's helmet. A sound like a massive gong reverberated inside Jett's head. His vision blurred; three angry Joes pummeled him with six enormous fists. Jett could only wrap his arms around his head and curl into a ball, praying for oblivion to claim him.

  This must be how Freddy Flava felt when I was kicking his ass. The random thought was suddenly hilarious. He tried to laugh but bit his tongue as another vicious blow rocked him. Reality faltered, flickering in between worlds. A dead woman's voice whispered to him. />
  "Jett…"

  He followed the warbling voice, shoving away a blazing section of collapsed ceiling. Tatsu lay underneath. Her helmet was shattered, revealing her face. It was the only part of her that wasn't shredded by the explosion.

  Jett's mind refocused when a piercing shriek nearly split his eardrums. His helmet receivers partially muffled the sound, but the auto-dampening mechanism was damaged by Joe Blow's damaging punches.

  Joe fared far worse. He clamped his oversized hands over his ears, wincing in pain. His beady eyes flickered back and forth, searching for the source of the sound. His teeth clamped in a snarl. Blood oozed from his nostrils.

  A small, lithe, feminine figure leaped from the shadows. She waved a hand, hurling a small orb at Joe Blow's face. It exploded, fanning a fine layer of powder directly in his eyes. He roared, flailing and stumbling as he scrubbed his face.

  "Gonna…kill you. Whoever you are, you're dead. You hear me? Dead meat. Gonna tear your arms off and beat you to death with 'em. Gonna rip your spine out your back and use it to pick my teeth. You hear me? You're dead. DEAD."

  The woman ran to Jett, helping him up. "Come quickly. His blindness is only temporary."

  He groaned, leaning on her for support. Her voice seemed so familiar. "Tatsu…"

  But it wasn't Tatsu. The new woman was decked in red and black, with a loose-fitting vest tunic with tactical pouches over form-fitting leggings reinforced with armor. A hood was pulled over her head, her identity further concealed by a red, metallic helmet that looked remarkably like his own.

  "My name is Viper. You can trust me."

  Jett didn't see he had a choice. He stumbled along, allowing her to lead him deeper into the darkness of the tunnels. Joe Blow's howling threats faded in the distance behind them.

  Pain was all that existed. The world span in dizzy circles, his mind flickered back and forth between present and past. One second he was in the Waste, leading his team in a firefight against scores of Deviants. The next he was back in the dripping, dank subway tunnels, leaning on a stranger who somehow bore his weight despite being half his size.