“You will not trust me. I’m a stranger. I don’t belong here. I’ve simply blown in, and as quickly and silently, I can disappear again. No, you shouldn’t trust me, but yourselves and your own skills. A plan only built around a single person is crap.”
I grinned. “That could’ve been by Angry April, right? Let her come and sue me.”
With one hand on my left tit, I continued. “You know almost nothing about me, but we can change that now and here.
“I’m a thief. I’m good at that, but I steal from those who earned their money unlawfully.
“I have killed. I’ve killed men who tortured other people only for their own entertainment. I’ve killed Syndicate killers.
“I will bear responsibility for my own deeds, just as I’m now bearing responsibility for you. I trust the law as you trust me, and I will accept any sentence. That’s the deal.”
I felt sympathy. My open way appealed to them.
“If I am to fight for you, it must be worthwhile. It must be lasting. You must demonstrate that you can keep what I’m fighting for together with you—your freedom—later on without me.”
“The Cartel’s too powerful,” I heard someone quietly say. I’d been waiting for this argument.
“The Cartel is shattered, its leaders dead or arrested. The Syndicate’s standing alone, as there won’t be reinforcements from outside.”
The Fool at my side knowingly nodded.
Some in the audience felt encouraged to join the discussion.
“They have a secret weapon. The Syndicate’s like coming from nowhere.”
“There’s nothing secret about it. They have armor suits, like the Windwraiths during the war. With them, they can camouflage until they’re almost invisible.”
“Then we’ve already lost.”
“They still have to place their feet down and to open doors. Spray paint or flour can do miracles there.” I had pondered how I could sell my solution to them without giving myself away. “Moreover, the suits have a flaw, and I can deal with that. When the time has come, I know how to take them out. However, I must ask for your understanding that I’d better keep that to myself. If they catch one of you and interrogate you—the trick only works once, you know? Or are you strong enough to kill yourself first?” Silence. “No, I thought so. That’s no accusation.”
“They’re armed well, and we’re not.”
“How that? You don’t have arms and don’t know how to get some?” Silence. “See?”
“You’re taking it easy. Many of us could die.”
“Easy. You know what? I could die. I could die fighting for your freedom and for the life of your daughters.” Dad at my side nodded affirmatively. “I wouldn’t have to. New York isn’t my town, and I’m not even American. I could simply go home, right now. Instead I’m coming to risk my neck for your lazy asses, and you say I’m taking it easy? Do you know at all how bloody hard it is for me to have small talk with you here, while the cops outside are on the hunt for the next young girls? Nevertheless, I have to live with that, because it won’t suffice to kill a dozen cops and save a handful of girls. When it starts, we have to get them all. And yes, there will be casualties. They will try to take hostages to discourage you. They will start to shoot at anyone in range. Yes, they will shoot down innocents—but that’s nothing new. They’re taking in innocents every day, and you’re watching and doing nothing. The difference is—this time we’re defending ourselves! This time, they’ll have to take some, too, and they’re getting the bill for their atrocities.”
“We can’t just—”
“Oh yes, you can. You’ve successfully defeated a million-strong army of Jellies. Volunteers from all over the country came to the drop zone to defend America with bravery and a gun in their hands—did they ask whether the Jellies would shoot back? Whether any of them could die? No. Were they trained soldiers? No. Did they wet their pants for it? No. They simply did what had to be done. Can you do that, too?”
“Back then, they had the Dragons to help.”
“And today, you have me. In exchange, we’re not fighting thirty million aliens, but only a few hundred humans. You don’t need a Dragon for that!”
Part Six—Way Of Suffering
Chapter Sixty-Three
My gaze ran along the long row of plasma rifles. What an arsenal! With these weapons, you could arm an entire battalion!
With these weapons, the Syndicate could burn down any riot in no time, regardless how brave and motivated the people were. If they were motivated at all.
I had no reason to be dissatisfied. No, the assembly hadn’t produced a tangible result. It had remained a mutual test. I couldn’t have expected more—my call to arms had been radical and surprising—nothing an ordinary citizen could accept just so.
This assembly could only be the first step. The people needed time now. They had to find out for themselves what they could gain and what they could lose. Yes, they could lose their lives—but what life was that, as the Syndicate’s livestock?
So I had left early. “Think about it, discuss it together,” I had requested before. “Tonight, I have something else to do.”
It now was clear to me what I had to do—I was standing right in front of it.
Actually, I had only come to steal two or three plasma rifles. That was all I could carry and hide under my nano armor. I had thought, okay, they’ll have twenty or thirty here in their armory—but not two or three hundred!
Against this firepower, the New Yorkers wouldn’t stand a chance, and they’d only die. The iron bullets of a linear rifle were as deadly, but those killed cleanly and silently. Plasma hits had an additional demoralizing effect. The smell of scorched flesh alone was horrible. I knew that for myself.
It was totally impossible to take them all with me. Briefly, I considered destroying them. Then, I came up with a better idea.
I placed three rifles from the back row to the side, and then I returned to the start of the rack. With my nano manipulators, I felt the first weapon’s innards. Yes—the raw material pellet would be shot into this chamber, shielded by a tiny envelope field, and then heated by a laser pulse from here. The heated plasma would then leave the shielded barrel in this direction.
If the envelope field failed, the laser pulse wasn’t triggered. But what if it only failed after the pellet was heated up? Or if the shielding was flawed right here at the chamber exit? How unpleasant for the shooter!
It took only a little modification here and there to facilitate such. Once I knew what to do, it was a question of seconds for my nano manipulators. Two guns each every fifteen seconds, step by step along the rows—a terribly boring task, but after less than three quarters of an hour, I was through.
Perhaps they’d test the weapons now and then, or perhaps they’d only get them in case of a riot. This way or that, the shooter would be in for a terrible surprise.
Now get your ass out here, Jo, before the camouflaged guard outside decides to check the armory in a fit of diligence!
Once again, I convinced the Frostdragon safe lock at the heavy steel door to give way without logging this event, and then I snuck out the way I had come, invisible and with three slender plasma rifles on the naked skin under my nano suit.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Saturday morning brought an unwelcome surprise—the first snow this year. Together with a cold snap this didn’t only make my daily rest periods in the open unpleasant, but most of all it meant that I could no longer sneak through the streets invisibly, as the snow stuck, thus showing every footprint.
At the same time, this also affected the Syndicate’s armor suits. Bad luck for the guys. They’d either give themselves away by their footprints, or in visible shape by their suits’ golden color.
I had other options. I didn’t depend on invisibility—at least not for most of the city area. Luckily, the snow had waited until I had returned from my second visit to the Freedom Tower.
There was no snow in a subway tunnel, no
r in the sewers.
I didn’t leave footprints on the buildings’ façades, nor when I sailed across the streets with my membranes.
As long as I didn’t wear my black suit, I was just Jo, one of countless young women in New York, and could move freely.
Only in the immediate vicinity around Times Square, I had to be cautious. There, the preparations for the big show on Sunday were running hot. Security had been visibly reinforced—guess why?—and I wouldn’t want to apply for a lead part. Nevertheless, I had to have another look around, had to memorize access and escape ways and find out what other current changes there were against the plans discussed in the Syndicate headquarters.
On the stage, a second pole had been placed next to the first, so that the victim could be stretched between the two. Two big screens behind the stage were just tested. A cop with a shock stick stood behind each technician. Obviously, the cameras should closely capture the back and the face of the flogged victim simultaneously. A directional microphone would catch and amplify the screams. Abhorrent!
The preparations for these atrocities only supported my determination to put an end to this game—the sooner the better.
This Sunday, I’d make a statement that nobody could miss.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Another hour to the start of the show. The cops had cordoned off Times Square. Nobody was allowed to leave the square while numerous teams of Bloods herded more spectators in. No, participation in this event was in most cases not voluntary.
I had strong doubts that the cold-wet weather kept the people from coming here out of own initiative. It was one thing to be amused about the absurdly overdrawn movie presentation of the grand chainsaw massacre, and an entirely different animal if you knew that all the displayed suffering was real.
Comparable medieval events, as far as I had heard, had at least claimed to perform justice. To publicly hack a thief’s hand off surely hadn’t been less disgusting, but at least had provided his victims with a feel of satisfaction. But here, people didn’t direct rage at the victims, but hate and fear at the actors.
By noon, the snow had melted away. The single armor suit had found a place on an awning behind the stage, from where he had a good view on the masses.
From my own viewpoint high on a breezy rooftop, I could see both—the invisible man’s post as well as the stage with the poles, chains, spiked racks, the coal pot, and the pre-heated burning irons.
The actors were still missing, and if today went according to my intentions, they wouldn’t make their appearance at all. What was I waiting for, then?
It was tempting to tell myself I’d only be waiting for the right moment. My plans didn’t need such a prompt. All players I needed had long assembled, and, most of all, there were enough witnesses for my action. No, if I was honest to myself, I feared that something could go wrong.
There was still time to withdraw, to cancel my mission, and leave the victims to their fate. The cops were prepared for Velvet’s appearance, but they had no clue of the when, where, and how. As opposed to that, I knew very well about their plans for countermeasures.
Hey, I held all the good cards in my hand, and I knew my opponents’ hand! If that was no reason for an All In, what would be one?
So, old gal, let’s gamble.
I made one step back, went flat on my belly and crawled back to the rooftop edge with the plasma rifle in my hand.
The target with the highest priority was the armor suit, but I shouldn’t know about it yet. Next came the large torture tools, then the electronic equipment.
So—that will be a fast sweep from left to right, then perhaps the suit—I carefully trained on one target after the other, memorized my body position and the moving sequence, and then went back to start.
Test run—once the same, this time in rapid succession, again without pulling the trigger. Fine.
Back to start. Last check—anything striking around? No.
And—action!
Sun-hot plasma burned the tips of the two torture poles where the chains were mounted, then their sockets, and let them slowly fall. The coal pot spilled embers all over the stage. The Iron Maiden melted, just as the spiked racks, then the horse with the edgy steel beam. Five video cameras fulminated from the hits, and then I sent the last magazine charges into the video screens and rolled away from the edge.
Still, the armor suit hadn’t left his position. Had he noticed my position at all?
With few steps, I had reached the next rooftop edge to my right, when the edge around my last shooting position dissolved under a prattling stream of linear rounds.
Too late!
I spread my arms and jumped. My sailing membranes carried me ten floors deeper to the next building rooftop. In a floating motion, I rolled off, collected the waiting second plasma rifle and assumed shooting stance at the edge.
If I had a really close look, I could indeed spot the camouflaged shooter, even if it only was the dark hole of his linear gun’s muzzle. That sufficed.
He hadn’t noticed my change of location yet, was still covering the other house—I aimed coarsely in his direction and served a widespread volley all over his location.
I could have hit him precisely—but this way I left the traces of a chance hit from a randomly fired salvo, which nevertheless heavily damaged his suit and annihilated a large part of its camouflage.
Now it was about who’d be the faster one—would he get his linear cannons trained to the side first, or could I acquire my target first?
Five more plasma hits in the damaged area were definitely too much for an armor suit—the last shot already exited through the back, after the plasma had turned the suit’s inside into a burning hell.
Time for me to quickly change my position again, as several of the black-coated cleaning men had recognized my position now and trained their plasma rifles in my direction. But their shots only hit the air where I had just before been standing.
Again, a glide-jump carried me to the next roof, where my last plasma rifle was waiting. Flat on my belly, I peeked over the rooftop edge, mentally picked four targets and served them each a load of plasma.
I didn’t have to fear the police pistols—if their bullets flew that high at all, they could only poke me. But some cops carried linear rifles, and those could hurt me. They were my next targets, and five of them fell in quick succession.
Three more had managed to tear their guns up and aim at my roof edge. The first steel bullets tore shards out of the façade, too close to my taste.
It didn’t matter, as my message had been delivered.
Now, I only had to get away from here.
Chapter Sixty-Six
The cops might be corrupt, brutal and spoiled, but they still were cops. They knew how to cordon off buildings and blocks, how to send SWAT teams to the neighboring rooftops and cut off an assassin’s escape route.
My next glide took me across Broadway, where I clung to the wall of an antique building, outside the innermost police cordon. Quickly, I climbed around the corner and jumped off again. This way, I had passed the second cordon, too, even if closely. Another jump, and I came down on the street, covered by some garbage cans. Here, I dropped my camouflage and stepped into the traffic lanes, right in front of a group of athletic Japanese men in dark suits.
“Konnichi wa,” I greeted them and glanced over my shoulder.
Yes, the cops had spotted me. With angry yells, they coordinated their actions. Some took cover behind their cars and trained their weapons on me, others fetched pump guns from their cars, and one briefly let his police car siren wail.
The Japanese produced compact machine pistols and aimed at me.
Nobody here for talking, eh?
I flung around toward the cops, made a far and low dive forward, while the first machine pistol volley prattled over me and into the police cars’ flanks. Bad idea!
The cops answered, and they first shot at my would-be accomplices, not at the unarmed woman on the
asphalt. The Dragon cultists—yes, I had recognized the symbol on their belt buckles—had to take cover.
Time enough for me to tear up the heavy manhole cover before my nose with one hand and dash inside head-first.
The duct ended at a tunnel’s ceiling—shortly before impact, I grabbed one of the rungs in the wall, thus inducing a turn, and came down on my feet like a cat.
Above me, more shots rang. I grinned. Have fun with each other!
A few minutes ago, I had killed ten people with professional concentration. Publicly, before the eyes of several thousand witnesses!
No doubt, the Syndicate couldn’t savor that. They already had lost their second cleanup team, and above that one of four irreplaceable armor suits.
But the spectators had remained passive. As spectacular as my action had been, it hadn’t caused even one of the attendants to try to seize the opportunity. But if this didn’t suffice to light the people’s spark, what else could I do?
Their resistance lacked the right motivation, the final hook. The people were still waiting for the big knight in shining armor, and were projecting this hope on me—on Velvet. But I wouldn’t be able to solve this mission alone. I needed a different solution. A reason.
People don’t fight against something, but for something.
I had to make the people stand up for something they believed into. Something worth fighting for, not for the poor bastard next door. For a symbol.
This way meant pain.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
“Hello.” I sat down next to the Fool on the steps before the Metropolitan Museum.
“Hello, Velvet.”
“Where’s your guitar?”
“I don’t feel like making music.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you heard yet?”
“No. What?”
Lioness’ Legacy IV—Torment Page 18
