Light blinded him. He realized it was the subway exit. They managed to stumble up the stairs and into the biting wind and cold, whirling flakes of snash. Crowds in heavy coats, scarves, and hoods streamed by, paying no attention to the two masked people staggering along. Anyone who looked their direction quickly glanced away, choosing the safe option of indifference rather than get involved. Jett saw a child staring at them, pulling on her mother's arm and pointing. The woman quickly snatched her daughter up and quickened her pace.
Viper guided Jett over to an inconspicuous vehicle parked alongside the street. He was dumped in the passenger seat, where he immediately slumped over. Just breathing was an effort, as though an anvil lay on top of his chest, driving spikes into his lungs with every inhalation. Viper entered on the driver's side and opened the holographic control panel.
"I have him. He's seriously injured. Prep an AHPP."
Jett recognized Incognito's voice when he answered over the speaker. "I'll have it ready when you get here. Use the warehouse entrance."
"I told you to take care of this."
"Let's not talk about this right now, okay?"
"That's your problem. You never want to talk, especially when it's time to talk."
They continued to argue, but their voices muted as Jett teetered on the edge of insentience. Dead faces swam across his vision; his Hellrazors crumbled to ash in a bloom of flame.
Buoyant movement rocked him. As the buildings whipped downward, he realized he was in a floater. The flying vehicle shot forward, turning the world in blurs and streaks of light. Jett faded in the same instant, sailing into the embrace of unfeeling darkness.
Chapter 11
Mira was in big trouble.
Should've listened to what's-his-face…
Only Jett had been gone for two days without contact. She wasn't sure what he had planned, but whatever it was, it didn't seem like things had worked out. Rumors drifted from the Underbelly. Something about Joe Blow ripping someone from limb to limb. Normally that was a slow news day, but putting two and two together meant that someone was probably Jett. It was a shame. He had actually seemed to be a nice guy. She didn't meet too many of those.
So she was on her own again. No big deal. Been on her own. Liked it better that way.
She wove between the thick crowd, slumped over to make herself even smaller. Throngs milled about as usual, ignoring the slushy streets and bitter cold in their thick coats, hats, neon-lined umbrellas, and Holovisors. Curses and shouts followed her when she inadvertently bumped into someone while weaving and dodging the shuffling bodies.
She quickened her pace but heard the ring of metal-shod footsteps still tailed her. Only a stupid tough would plate his boots with chrome. Still, this particular tough was named Sixx, notorious for a mean streak and penchant for slice-and-dice that she wanted to avoid.
Should've stopped asking questions when I was ahead…
She was so focused on avoiding Sixx that she ran directly into a wall. The collision knocked her backward so hard she bounced off the muddy concrete.
No wall. Impossible on the sidewalk…
Looking up, two incredibly large men loomed over her. It took a moment of fading dizziness for the two to coalesce into a single person. A leather-clad brute, face obscured by a dog-faced mask. Vapor expelled from the pinhole vents, giving him a rabid appearance.
He seized her by the scruff of the neck, dragged her into the adjacent alley. She shrieked, kicking and clawing, but she may as well have been imaginary for all the regard he gave her. She took a desperate look at the crowds as they passed. They continued on, engrossed in their Holovisors or keeping their heads downcast, eyes on anything but the little girl being dragged away into the darkness.
No one cares. I'm dead to these people. A ghost…
She was carelessly slung to the ground, wincing when the back of her head rebounded off a concrete wall. The alley was narrow, littered by trash, shadowed by the busted siding of crumbling, graffiti-laced tenement buildings.
Dog Face stood directly over her, blocking any chance of a quick dash to escape. She resorted to the instant man-dropper with a fierce punch to the man's crotch. Her knuckles crunched, pain lanced across her entire arm.
Dog Face's laughter was muffled. He thrust his groin her direction in disgusting fashion, and spikes ripped out from the metal cup beneath his pants.
"Nice try, jade." His backhand was lazy, but the impact of his calloused knuckles struck her like a thunderclap. The alleyway faded in and out while she lay on the cold ground, struggling to get up. Her legs didn't listen to her head. Bloody drool dripped from her mouth, trailing across her arm.
A soft voice drifted over. "Don't hit the rabbit too hard, Tiny. You'll ruin her."
Sixx sidled over, draped in a long, faux-fur coat. Tiny metal spikes jutted from his pale, shaved head like a crown, and crimson light glimmered from a cybernetic eye.
He hitched up his coat and stooped down, cupping Mira's face with a hand tipped with metal claws. "Nice chase, little rabbit. But you can't run forever."
She threw a punch that he easily dodged. "You dwads took my sister. All I want is to get her back!"
"Aw, the rabbit misses her sister. Not to worry, hon. I see a family reunion in your future." His cybernetic eye whirred, clicking like a camera shutter. "This is the one, Tiny. Hanging around our red sites, asking all the wrong questions." He pursed his lips and gave her a sad smile.
"Good news, rabbit. You're about to find out the answers to all your questions. Might even see your sister again. Bad news is you won't be able to tell anyone. Not ever."
A claw jabbed into her neck, and the world instantly grew hazy. The two men became indistinct shadow monsters, voices thick and garbled.
"Take her to the kennel."
Chapter 12
Jett woke up in a prison.
His heart exploded into overdrive at awakening inside a sealed pod just large enough to hold him. He tried to move but was confined by a heavy covering of plaster that completely enveloped him up to his neck. No matter how frantic his movements, he was trapped tighter than a rabbit in a snare.
"Ah, you're awake."
A man approached and stood over the sight glass of the pod. He was mid-sixties, athletic build, silver-haired. His face was carved lines and rigid angles, the face of a man who gave orders and expected them to be obeyed. Jett recognized him immediately. William Golding, the man that had placed him in hibernation after the Hellrazors died. But that was in the past.
Jett licked his lips, trying to battle the fear that tried to claw out of his chest. It was impossible. He couldn't still be in the stasis lab. Couldn't have dreamed the entire few months of his life.
"You might be experiencing some disorienting effects. Do you know where you are?"
Jett blinked. The voice was different. He narrowed his eyes. The man standing over the pod didn't look anything like William Golding. He was much younger, in his early thirties. Neatly combed blond hair. Tailored dress shirt and slacks. He was confined to a hovering version of a wheelchair. Jett remembered where he had seen the man before.
"You were at the funeral. You, the woman, and the old man."
The man in the hoverchair smiled. "So you were watching us. I never suspected. Guess I'm not as incognito as I thought. My name is Arthur Milton. I'm sure you have many questions. Why don't I let you out of the med tank, and we can talk."
He pulled up a screen on his holoband and tapped a digital keypad. Jets hissed inside the pod, and the plaster substance instantly liquefied into milky liquid, disappearing down the drain at the bottom. Jett nearly gasped from the rush of air that raised goosebumps on his skin. He slowly emerged, shivering in his wet boxer shorts. He paused, inspecting his body for injuries. To his surprise, the visible bruises were faded as if weeks after the savage beating.
"How…long was I in there?"
"Two days. Your jaw was fractured, cheekbone and nose broken, four ribs cracked, and bruise
d from head to toe. Pretty amazing, isn't it?" Arthur gestured to a nearby door. "In the bathroom are a clean change of clothes. I took the liberty of burning yours. They were filthy. Shower and dress. We'll talk afterward."
Ⓥ
One side of his face was discolored, still tender. A purple crescent bruise hugged his right eye. He wondered how he looked before the med tank.
Must have been pretty awful.
He'd seen similar Accelerated Healing Process Pods in his own time but had never experienced the process. The AHPPs were reserved for those who could afford the luxury. Back then it would have taken weeks to recover from the damage he'd received. Obviously, they had been improved over time.
He felt better after showering and dressing in a long-sleeved knit shirt and cargo pants. He walked out into a small, darkened warehouse. Nearly everything was shrouded under dusty tarps. It had the look of a place abandoned, the leftovers of a life left behind. Jett guessed a few of the larger tarps covered different vehicles. The floater that carried him there was the only one uncovered. But what drew his eye were several glass-enclosed chambers. Inside of them were armored suits, each topped by modified versions of Vigil's helmet.
Arthur silently guided his hoverchair over. "I thought they might catch your eye." He glanced down at the battered helmet in his lap. "This one has been severely damaged, I'm afraid. Hard to think a human fist could deal out this kind of punishment."
Jett looked down. "You're the one who guided me through that warehouse attack. You're Incognito."
"Not anymore, I'm afraid." Arthur turned his chair toward an elevator door. "Let's go topside. There's nothing left in this cemetery except ghosts."
Jett followed Arthur into a large cargo lift. "So. The attack on the police convoy that killed Kane. That was you?"
"Does it look like I have the physical ability to take out an armored convoy?" Arthur's voice was bitter as he pressed a button, jolting the lift into action.
Jett was silent for a moment. "Was it…her?"
"Viper? God, no. Two officers were killed in that attack. She'd never be so sloppy."
Jett exhaled a sigh of relief before pausing in thought. "Who do you think it was?"
Arthur looked up with a wry expression. "You're minutes out of a med tank, and you're already thinking about what happened on the streets? I don't know if you're a fiend for action or just bored out of your mind. Either way, I guess I can save the sales pitch."
The lift lurched to a stop. The gate rattled open, revealing a dimly lit apartment with expensive furnishings. Jett glanced down at Arthur.
"What sales pitch?"
Arthur glided forward in the hoverchair. "You know. The one where I convince you to become the next Vigil. The real deal. Not the half-baked version you've been cobbling around as."
Jett followed the humming chair into the apartment. He was immediately struck by a surprisingly potent sense of nostalgia when he realized it had been renovated from a lavish hotel with all the gold gilding, rich mosaic carpeting, Renaissance-styled painted ceilings, and Victorian furniture. Paintings lined the walls like an art museum, and every nook and cranny was stuffed with busts, carvings, and collections from bygone eras.
Arthur paused in a hallway where suits of armor were displayed under dramatic lighting. Practically every age and culture was represented. He pointed them out as he passed.
"Mycenaean Greek, Roman centurion, medieval knight, Ottoman knight, Japanese samurai, Chinese Terracotta. In ancient times, the defenseless looked to paladins to protect them. To fight for them, if need be."
Jett shook his head. "Most of that reputation was inflated by the stories and songs about their supposed brave deeds. At best, they were protectors. At worst, they were rapists and cowards hiding behind armor and weapons. The bottom line is that they were soldiers. Good or bad, they rose and fell, lived and died at the orders of their lords and commanders."
"You know firsthand about being a soldier, don't you?"
"I know firsthand that soldiers are pawns. Used for a moment and easily sacrificed."
Arthur regarded him with unruffled calm. "Is that what happened to you?"
Commander Blackwell stared at Jett with cold, unblinking eyes. "I'm sorry, Major. There is simply no place in the future for an outfit like yours. It was a tough call to make, but the New World Council was firm in its decision. Your Hellrazors and the rest of the ACU units are disbanded. The Android Military Units are the future, and will replace you immediately."
Jett's fists clenched. "Yes."
"How did that make you feel?"
"Powerless."
Arthur directed his chair forward. "Because you weren't in control. Your life and the lives of your team were completely at the mercy of superiors who only saw you as a means to an end."
Jett's mouth twisted. "And what—you're supposed to be different? I take orders from you, and I'm supposed to believe you have my best interests at heart?"
"No orders. A partnership. I provide reconnaissance and keep you alive. You work on the ground doing what you apparently love to do: engage the enemy."
They entered a dining room, where a table was set. Ripe fruit glistened in bowls alongside steaming eggs and fresh bread. Condensation slid down glasses of water and mimosas. A tall, cylindrical robot in a tuxedo glanced up from where he stood pouring juice from a pitcher.
"Master Milton. Mr. Wolfe. I've prepared a small meal to break your fast."
"Thanks, Bailey."
Jett's mouth watered. "Wow. Haven't seen real food in a long time."
A small smile touched Arthur's lips. "A little more palatable than your ration bricks, I'm sure. Pull up a seat."
Jett sat down and helped himself to a croissant and spread cream cheese on it. He nearly cried when the flavor exploded in his mouth. After months of tasteless ration bricks, it was the most welcome change he'd experienced since his reawakening.
"Wow." He wolfed down a forkful of bacon and eggs while greedily staring at the food on display. "You always prepare so much?"
Bailey turned his gleaming, bullet-shaped head. "Only when we're expecting company."
Jett grinned around a mouthful of food. "Even I can't eat all of this."
"You're not the only company we're expecting, sir."
The far doors slid open. A woman walked in, practical in a long-sleeved button down and jeans. Her long, raven-black hair gleamed like wet ink, swaying with her sinuous strides. Her dark eyes took Jett in with a disapproving stare. The last time he's seen her was at the funeral. But he immediately knew she was the person behind Viper's mask.
Arthur dipped a nod her direction. "Qhawa."
"Arthur." She took her seat at the table, helping herself to a small cup of tea. Her eyes never left Jett. He felt as though she weighed him with her gaze, judging his worth.
Jett raised a glass of mimosa. "Ms. Qhawa. Or is it Viper? How do you keep from getting all these names tangled?"
"Carefully, Mr. Wolfe. If you cannot perform that simple task, how can you believe yourself worthy of taking on the mantle of Vigil?"
Jett glanced at Arthur. "I don't think she likes me."
"Qhawa doesn't like anyone. Don't worry; she grows on you."
She gave them both a severe look. "Look at you. Boys playing games. Why don't you tell Mr. Wolfe what happened to the last candidate?"
Arthur glared at her. "Straight to point, is it?"
"Why not? He deserves to know."
Arthur sighed, turning to Jett. "What Qhawa is trying to say is that this isn't the first time we've recruited someone."
She stared, never blinking. "You, Arthur. Not me. You recruited someone."
"Fine. I recruited someone. When my body was…shattered, Wayne took it hard. He retired as Vigil, vowing never to don the suit again. I felt different. I wanted…absolution. I thought if there was no Vigil, my sacrifice was for nothing. So I recruited someone. A disillusioned HSSC agent who wanted change. Long story short…"
Jett pa
used in the act of forking steaming eggs into his mouth. "He died."
"That's right. Walked into an ambush investigating the Diabolis organization."
"The same crew I was onto."
"That's right. It's hardly a coincidence. There's very little vice that Diabolis doesn't have its fingers in. Their network is ingrained in the city like bedrock."
Qhawa sliced a fresh peach open. Juice slid down the blade, dripping onto the saucer. "That's not the point. A man died because you thought he could become a hero. Now you're asking for another man to do so as well. He almost died already. You need to cut him loose before it's too late."
Jett waved a hand. "I'm right here, you know."
She turned her stare his direction. "You are a stranger here. This isn't your fight. It's not even your concern."
Heat flooded to his face at her casual dismissal. "You think I should just drop my head and turn a blind eye like everyone else? Walk around with a V-screen on my face and pretend not to see what's around me? That's not who I am."
"Why? Why risk your life to protect people you don't even know?"
"Because it's right. Because it can make a difference."
Her laughter rang with derision. "If you can't be honest with us, at least be honest with yourself. Why do it?"
"I told you—"
"You told a lie. Try the truth this time. Why do you want to do this?"
"Because…I need this, okay?" His chest heaved as the words blurted out. "When I put the mask on, when I use the tools to fight back, I feel like I have…a purpose. When I came out of stasis, I was lost. A man out of time; no past, no future. Everything I was, everyone I knew—dust. I was a zombie. That only changed when Wayne saved my life in my alley. He gave me the tools to do something real. I was meant to do it." He raised his head, looking her in the eyes. "I was meant for this."
Arthur studied Jett over steepled fingers. "You're a soldier without a war to fight. You've lost literally everything. And if nothing comes of it, your sacrifice was for nothing."
Jett nodded. His breathing felt ragged, his vision blurry. He scrubbed his eyes. "Maybe all I'm good at is fighting."
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