Pop Kult Warlord

by Nick Cole

  But of course I’m determined that won’t happen.

  So yeah. I owe them.

  We’re stacked and ready to go for breach. “Fire in the hole!” shouts Kiwi over chat as we blow the last bunker before the gate.

  The planted charge goes off like a thunderclap. Jolly goes in first, spraying the interior with a candy-cane-striped Uzi, bright brass shells streaming in every direction. Rashid follows with an AK-2000 he’s scavenged from the dead. He burned through all the ammo for his original primary to get up alongside us.

  By the time I go into the bunker, checking right, with Apone checking left, the Cobra dead have been well-ventilated. Kiwi and Fever come in on our six, and it’s a good thing they do because one of the Geek League players we missed comes out of the shadows with a ninja sword.

  Kiwi’s avatar pivots and unloads. He’s rewarded with a kill for some player tagged ImYurSnakeEyez.

  I need to leave and link up with Chloe but I can’t figure out how to disappear and not have Rashid know it.

  I DM Kiwi. Other than me thanking him for coming in and having my back, we haven’t had time to communicate. It’s been run-and-gun ever since.

  I’m in trouble.

  On screen we’re threading the bunker that leads up to the wall of the fortress. It sounds like the end of the world out there in the battle aboveground. Enigmatrix is hitting the base with everything. More artillery. Purchased mercenary airstrikes. As many of the jihadis the Calistani bankers can get back online even though they’re being slaughtered in bulk.

  “We need that front door down, PQ!” she says over command chat.

  “Roger, Rashid and I have taken the last bunker. Assaulting the main gate in five. Stand by to move forward with as much as you can. This is the last push.”

  “Roger,” she replies.

  I’ve got to tell her to get clear of Calistan.

  We pass some graffiti along the tunnel leading to the courtyard before the main gate. It says Destro is Kurtz, and I am his errand boy.

  That makes sense to someone.

  Kiwi texts me back. What can we do?

  No judgment. No I told you so. Or, What were you thinking? Like a good friend he knows exactly what’s important. Helping me when I need it most.

  I text back. Need you to get Rashid killed taking the front gate. I’ll hang back on overwatch. You’ll probably get killed too. I’m getting out of Calistan. Will call once I reach the border.

  I wait. Despite Irv’s assurances, I can’t help but wonder if some Calistani secret policeman has hacked in. If right now he’s telling Rashid what I’m up to at this very second. If a squad of soldiers is being dispatched down to my suite.

  If the jig is up.

  “What’s next?” asks Rashid over chat. “Eyes on the main gate.”

  Four heavy machine gun positions and about a company of Geek League soldiers, all of them in identical red outfits, and all of them heavily armed, are positioned around the objective. If we can take the gate out, the fortress will be wide open for the Calistani clans to push through.

  “Hudson is watching the livestream, sir. He tells me that’s their cream of the crop. Crimson Guard,” says Apone.

  “Eyes on a chrome dome!” says JollyBoy. And then, “Oh my… I think I’ve just found my spirit animal. Note to self, JollyBoy… research how does one chrome plate their head for WarWorld skin. That would drive RangerSix absolutely bat bonkers.”

  Kiwi chimes in.

  “Twofold plan. We flip that machine gun pit near the bunker exit. Then assault the gate with someone manning the machine gun position. I’ll take breach. Question, you take the pit. Roger?”

  “Hold on,” says Rashid, and I feel myself break out into a cold sweat. “PQ is in charge. I know you’re WarWorld teammates. But… this is his show.”

  I take a deep breath. I see Kiwi’s plan.

  “It’s a good plan, Rashid. If I can flip that pit, you and the rest can go in under cover. The streams will catch you demoing the gate for all the glory.”

  Long pause.

  “I’ll be right there with you, Prince Rashid,” says Kiwi.

  Kiwi’s legs were blown off by a “muzzie” land mine in Indonesia. He hates Muslims. But he’s my best friend. So he’s acting up a storm to get me out of something he knows is real bad.

  If they gave out awards to real heroes, he’d win the Oscar.

  I’ve just got to tell Enigmatrix to get out while she can…

  “It really is a solid plan,” I tell the princeling. “Toughest part is flipping that pit. I’ll make it happen, Rashid.”

  And before I can say anything Apone adds, “Me too, sir.”

  And yeah, I feel like scum. I am not worthy of the friendship of the Colonial Marines no matter what it says on their blog site. Hopefully they’ll understand. Someday.

  “Okay,” says Rashid cautiously. “If you’re sure, PQ.”

  I say, “Hundred percent, Rashid,” like a liar who tells lies.

  We coordinate with Enigmatrix and two minutes later we go for it.

  “Covering fire!” shouts Kiwi, and we pin the nearest machine gun position. Apone and I rush out. Our screens blur from the suppressing effects of enemy fire. I have a message composed to Enigmatrix in DM. I just need to hit send.

  JollyBoy does a solid and fires a micro-RPG into the enemy position that’s working us over. Flashbangs are lobbed and we storm the pit a second later, double-tapping the occupants.

  Apone takes a sniper round that zeroes him out.

  “No time for medical,” he says over chat. “Get that machine gun locked on the other positions so they can move forward.”

  “Roger,” I reply and hate myself a little more. “First Team in position,” I call out.

  Rashid will be busy now. Sensing his moment. All Calistan, the generals, the mullahs, and the entire world will watch him take the gate. And become heir apparent to the Caliphate of Calistan.

  I send the composed DM to Enigmatrix telling her to get out of Calistan while she still can. Things are about to go real bad.

  That’s all I can do for her. And in the end, it’s far more than I should’ve done.

  Kiwi signals to move forward with Rashid and the rest. Rashid will be expecting cover fire from me, with the machine gun we’ve taken.

  “Second Team moving!” calls out Kiwi over chat.

  I note TWITCHNN’s main channel is now livestreaming the battle at the front gate. The viewership is off the charts.

  I open up on the three other pits, raking them with fire. Crimson Cobra super-soldiers, or whatever they’re called, return fire despite the fact I’m ripping them to shreds. I even unload a full burst of fury on the shiny-headed chrome dome player running the local bots.

  His head explodes in a metallic spray.

  Kiwi and the team are dashing from cover to cover with satchel charges, moving closer and closer to the gate under fire. I’m covering Rashid as he moves. It’s Rashid who will detonate the charges at the gate.

  If I keep up the fire.

  But I’m already out of my immersion gamer chair, messenger bag over my shoulder and exiting the suite.

  Time to leave Calistan.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  I’ve got a small window to get out of the bunker. The shadows and subdued lighting and the fact that almost everyone is watching the disaster unfold as Calistan gets badly routed in front of the entire world… it all plays into my hands. The front door to Team Joe’s fortress won’t be open because Rashid’s avatar is most likely dying on the Martian sand in front of it. Torn to pieces by three remaining heavy machine gun positions. Along with my friends who don’t mind dying in-game.

  Competitive gamers hate dying. Even if it’s not for a ranked game. But real friends occasionally take a digital bullet for you so you don’t disappear inside some third world country.

  The important part is, the attack has stalled.

  It’s when I hear Rashid’s screaming temper tantrum echoi
ng down the halls of the underground bunker that I know I’ve got to get out the front door of the Cyber Warfare Center now. I fast-walk up to the ground floor level and then adopt a purposeful-but-unhurried pace toward the front door. The two guards who watch the entrance to the vault haven’t been alerted yet. They don’t know it’s all going to hell in a handbasket down in the bunker. Online and in front of the whole world. That the ruler of Calistani, a dying old sultan who looks like a shriveled-up mummy, is watching Rashid lose everything. Including tens of millions in wasted micro-transactions. As are the mullahs. And the generals. The factions that allow someone to take the reins of power. The long knives will come out now.

  I nod politely at the guards and act like I’m just going outside to have a smoke. Take a walk. Whatever it is they need to think as I walk past them.

  Certainly I haven’t just burned their soon-to-be leader’s plans of future glory to the ground with a metaphorical Zippo.

  They buy it and I push open the door, leaving behind the stale-smelling bunker that reeks of burnt ozone and warm electronics. I enter a hot smoke-filled afternoon that smells of salt, sulfur, brimstone… and rebellion.

  Calistan is on fire. Literally. From IED attacks or out-of-control riots, I don’t know. The air is alive with sirens and the sound of beating helicopter blades. And yeah… I hear automatic gunfire in the distance.

  Out, I text Chloe. I’m starting to thumb Be ready to move when Rashid bursts out of the door behind me. He’s screaming. Screaming that he knows what happened.

  “Enigmatrix told me what you’re up to!” he shouts raggedly. Like he’s almost on the verge of tears. And homicidal in the same moment.

  The big gold-plated Desert Eagle is in his hands.

  This will end badly.

  I am not a fighter. Not in real life. I really know nothing about guns. I’m just good at an online sport that involves digital versions of weaponry.

  My fight-or-flight reaction kicks in as he screams for me to explain what just happened and why I betrayed him. As if that will make any difference. He’s not pointing the pistol at me but it’s clear this isn’t going to end with him not doing that. Especially if he finds out what really happened.

  So I run.

  I cross the parking lot at a flat-out dead run, legs pumping, dive into a thin line of landscaping for cover, and burst through it, not having slowed my pace in the least. I’m cut and scratched and, yeah… he’s just taken a wild shot at me. I hear a cannon roar and a nearby palm frond is slapped hard as the bullet tears through the shrubbery and goes careening off across the street.

  I vault out onto a sidewalk and there’s PCH. Pacific Coast Highway. There’s no one on the road here in the perfect world of the Gold Coast. In the distance I can see military vehicles heading away toward the barriers that guard the zone from the rest of Calistan. I dash across the street and make the McBucks parking lot. The McBucks building itself has been shuttered with state-of-the-art anti-riot roll-down metal gates.

  It’s clear to me in that moment that Calistan is going seriously sideways. Corporations, even satellite outposts inside third world countries, have always been pretty good at smelling which way the wind is blowing. And McBucks has no doubt been ready for regime change since long before now. Has prepared for it. They smelled the wind, and right now the wind in Calistan is turning into a hurricane. A hurricane that’s on fire, if such a thing is possible. And no, I can’t believe I’m the cause of all this. Rashid and his family brought this on themselves. It was always going to blow… it was just a matter of when.

  I was just the spark in an old dry forest full of deadfall and kindling waiting to burn.

  I hear Rashid crashing through the brush behind me as my Docs thump against the hot pavement. And then I hear more footsteps, someone farther back, behind Rashid’s ragged breathing and hoarse screaming. Someone following Rashid.

  I make Chloe’s car. She’s in the driver’s seat. But as I start to open the door, Rashid emerges from the brush across the street. His polo shirt is torn. His white slacks are dirty. His hair is a sweaty mess and gone are the expensive sunglasses. But he comes across the road screaming at me. His eyes are wild and murderous.

  “Traitor!” he shouts. Which is true.

  The gun is pointed right at me and he’s following right behind it as he crosses the street swiftly. I know he won’t stop or slow until it pushes against my cheek. Then he’ll pull the trigger and blow my brains all over Chloe’s car, the McBucks parking lot, and Calistan.

  Chloe opens the driver’s-side door and crouches down behind it. I see she’s now holding the gun she was holding this morning. An old one. A revolver. I’d forgotten about that. She’s staying behind the cover of the flimsy door, the car between us. But Rashid senses this and fires at her. His aim is bad and the windshield of the car explodes. I raise my hands to shield my eyes as flying glass goes everywhere.

  This is nothing like a video game.

  His enraged face cannot believe he won’t be sultan of Calistan. It’s like the worst day ever for someone who has lived a life of utter luxury on the backs of everyone else and always got what he wanted. He screams and fires the massive weapon again. He misses again.

  She does not.

  She shoots him from above the driver’s-side door. Rashid goes down in the street shouting to no one who cares that he’s hit.

  “No!”

  I said no. That was me. I remember this from that other place I see this all happening from. From the temple. The Temple of Elemental Evil I ended up at.

  I stare at her, as if in a dream, as she stands and walks around the door of her tiny car parked in front of the shuttered McBucks. She crosses the hot parking lot and walks out into the street to stand over Rashid who twists and writhes from the bullet she has put in his gut. All of this like she’s in some kind of trance. Or I am.

  She doesn’t see Rashid’s brother, Omar, pull himself out of the landscaping protecting the Cyber Warfare Center from the Pacific Coast Highway. Doesn’t see he’s holding a small automatic pistol. It’s not gaudy like something Rashid would carry. It’s all business. It’s an assassin’s weapon. High-capacity mag. Snub-nosed for close quarters. Lots of bullets and firepower to make sure the job gets done.

  I scream her name. And then Omar shoots her just as she’s about to put the final bullet in the man who would’ve ruled Calistan.

  Why?

  I don’t know. Maybe because Omar knew it would be him who would be sultan now and that it would cost him nothing to save his brother’s life.

  Or maybe because they were brothers. And that had meant something long ago.

  I don’t know.

  Omar hits her several times dead center and she falls, dropping the pistol and twirling onto the hot pavement. Her hair covers her face, and everything in me says get the hell out of here. Except I don’t.

  I don’t even think of that. I’m just running for her when Omar shoots me. It’s like a hot burning pill I just swallowed that goes halfway down my throat and lodges in my collarbone. It doesn’t fling me back or drop me because I’m hunched over grabbing the place in my chest where I just got shot when I kneel down next to her. I brush the hair away from her face and see her beautiful brown eyes staring up at something in the sky. I hope it’s something beautiful.

  I still do when I think about her. And that place.

  I am dimly aware in the dream that Omar has slapped in a new clip for his murderous little business-like matte-black pistol. I hear that sound. Hear him pull back the slide and chamber a round.

  Then I hear a heavy cannon go off.

  An old-school hand cannon.

  Like the kind Irv had in the door pocket of his old Porsche the day he picked me up at the airport and we got high-end hipster street tacos.

  That day a long time ago.

  Omar goes flying back against the hot pavement in the street. Literally he’s been thrown from his expensive Italian loafers. I remember that detail.


  The wound in my chest is starting to hurt. To really burn. And I can feel blood seeping between my fingers.

  Irv, .44 Magnum in hand, crosses the street and pulls me to my feet.

  “C’mon kid! Gotta blow now.”

  He’s dragging me across the pavement and I’m starting to black out. I remember thinking we should take Chloe with us. She was coming with me. I told Irv that.

  “Nah, kid. She’s gone.”

  I black out.

  I see the ancient temple through the fetid reeds of the swamp. It is a decaying old unclean place that never knew joy. Or the smile of a beautiful brown-eyed girl named Chloe.

  A few seconds later Irv is forcing me into his old Porsche. We’re parked in an alley. He’s telling me to put pressure on the wound when I fade away again.

  It’s an evil place. The temple. Silent and brooding. But Morgax is next to me. The wound is so bad I don’t think I’ll make it.

  “You have to,” Morgax tells me. “He’s coming out. This is where you must confront him if you are to remain you.”

  I see that same man, spiky blond hair and vaguely homeless, coming down the front steps of the ruined temple. He’s got that same crooked smile and unblinking vampire’s stare he had when I first met him deep down in a dungeon inside the Black, as the Raggedy Man.

  The buzz of insects rises up from the swamp like some chorus of the damned.

  It’s the engine revving up to sudden high speed that brings me back up to the surface of the dream I was swimming in. Chloe and I were swimming in. A blue-green tropical lake in an ancient primordial forest. This was one of all the places we were going to go.

  Irv nods at me from the driver’s seat. He has a sickly smile on his face. But it’s a smile nonetheless. The big nickel-plated .44 Magnum is lying across my lap. I smell gun smoke. And burning tires. The sun is bright and a helicopter gunship floats overhead. Irv downshifts and I feel centrifugal force pulling at me as we corner. Tires squeal. He goes up through the gears and we’re flying forward.

  “There’s gonna be hell to pay for this. Sorry, kid. I didn’t see it going this bad. And you’re gonna be in a lot of trouble… but we’ll do what we can.”