Into Neon

by Matthew A Goodwin

  “There’s a lot of these side entrances so the average employee doesn’t see people being dragged very far,” Issy explained as she led them down concrete steps whose yellow paint had been worn off over time. Light bulbs in metal cages illuminated the corridor which seemed to stretch on as far as Moss could see. They walked a while before Issy spoke again. “Ferocious Stan,” she began respectfully. “You should take the lead here, there will be a guard stationed as we round the next corner.”

  “Right,” he said and stepped in front of them, cracking his knuckles with dramatic flair. They stepped past a line of demarcation spray painted on the floor, the blue beehive shield logo of BurbSec on the near side and the red scorpion pincer emblem of Carcer Corp on the other.

  “Thank you, Is,” Moss said, and she turned sorrowful eyes on him as he heard, Security Order 19.

  “Listen, Moss,” she began, but his hand was already reaching for the weapon at his side. It was not instinct as it had been with the biker but a calculated move. He knew how much he had asked of her, how much she would have to give up to help them, how much it would help her professionally if she stopped them.

  His heart broke as he pressed his thumbnail against the switch, ensuring it was set to non-lethal. Her eyes went wide with disbelief as his he raised the weapon, pointing to the break in her armor at the shoulder. He knew the wiring would distribute the shock; Stan had taught him as much. The lights in the hallway turned red and she had time to say, “No,” as he pulled the trigger.

  Stan wheeled back around with his revolver aimed as a speaker blared, “Security alert.”

  Moss found himself saying, “I’m sorry,” as the shock hit his oldest friend, who crumpled instantly into his arms. His eyes burned and his face contorted in anger, disappointment, and fear. He lay her down and turned to look at Stan with his weapon raised.

  “It’s dealt with,” Moss snarled. Stan lowered his weapon.

  “I’m sorry.” Stan’s words hardly registered.

  “Me-fucking-too,” Moss exclaimed, his words muffled in his own ears, drowned out by the alarms.

  “We have to move,” Stan ordered.

  “I know it,” he said through gritted teeth, his last conversation with Gibbs replaying in his mind. He looked at Issy, her shallow breaths causing her armor to rise and fall ever so slightly. He pulled the name tag from her armor and wiped the tears from his face as he stood, accepting that he could trust no one but himself in this world.

  “Let’s do something good,” he told Stan and they hurried down the hallway. A guard turned to meet them at an open door at the end of the hall and Stan brought the butt of his weapon down so hard on the man his helmet shattered, sending him crashing to the floor. Moss held his weapon forward as they continued down more corridors.

  We’ve been compromised, meet us at the front for extraction, Moss heard Stan command in his mind.

  Already en route, Judy answered. Moss had watched this version of events play out on the hologram and knew they would make their way to the holding cells before leaving through the front door where the rest of the crew would be waiting. Time was paramount now as Carcer would be mobilizing men and drudges to converge on this location.

  Two more guards awaited them around the next corner. One knelt, opening a box containing an auto-assembling turret. Stan’s weapon boomed in the contained space and the man on the ground was sprayed with the blood of his cohort as Moss pulled his own trigger with fury, the first few shots spraying electric blue all over his armor before finding a gap. He convulsed violently and crunched against the ground before he had a chance to activate the turret. Blood pooled dark crimson on to the hard floor and Moss stared a moment at the two men—one living, one forever dead.

  Once a month in the burb, handlers made a special show of putting chickens in with 2152’s mascot tiger. Employees would gather to watch the beasts stalk the helpless chickens before turning them into plumes of feathers and viscera. Next to Stan, moving toward their destination, Moss felt a kinship with the animals. He could not wait for the next guards, his finger poised on his trigger. All sympathy for them lay two hallways back, taking shallow breaths.

  He nearly pulled the trigger once more as the two stepped through another door to the holding cells and figures appeared before them, standing over the bodies of six guards. He had to blink hard to catch his brain up to what he was seeing. Ynna stood poised with an autorifle pointed directly at them, a naked man cowering behind her. One windowless cell door was open and faced a bank of computer monitors displaying images from inside the cells and around the facility, where guards were hurrying into position. The feed from the outside of the structure showed no activity except the guards, though Moss knew that was about to change.

  “What the fuck are you two doing here?” she shouted at them over the sounds of the alarm.

  “Of course,” Stan said, getting a read of the moment Moss did not understand.

  “We are here to rescue you,” Moss explained but Stan was already shaking his head at the words.

  “My dipshits in shining armor,” she growled.

  “This him?” the man asked as he pulled some clothes for himself out of a security guard’s locker and began to dress hurriedly, having to try several times before feeding his arm into one of the sleeves. Ynna was still dressed the way Moss had seen when they had met and what Stan had realized now dawned on him too. Her garbled message had not said that she was captured at all.

  “Chicken Thumbs?” Moss asked the man. A Caucasian who appeared to be in his late twenties was slightly overweight and bore the fresh purpling yellow bruises of someone who had recently been asked some aggressive questions by Carcer Corp jailers.

  “The one and only,” Chicken Thumbs said, spreading his arms wide. His body moved with jerky, uneven motions as he reached down to pick up one of the guns from the floor. “Good thing you all got here when you did, I was a few hours away from a one-way trip to Carcer City.”

  “Hey fuckwits,” Ynna interrupted. “People are coming to kill us so perhaps we can save the introductions and platitudes for later?”

  “Yeah,” Stan agreed as gunfire illuminated one of the screens. “Cavalry’s here.”

  They stepped over the bodies as they moved back into the passageways. Lighted exit signs guided their way and they heard yelling from around another corner. Stan and Ynna led the way with the other two dogging their steps. Ynna peeked around the corner.

  “Three more,” she announced. “With a turret.”

  “I’ll take the left?” Stan asked and Ynna rolled her eyes and shot him a devilish grin as she pulled the pin from a heat-seeking grenade.

  She sent it bounding down the hallway, small pins firing out one after another to seek the bodies of the guards. They heard, “Shit,” before a white light and loud explosive bang filled the space.

  No sooner than it happened did Ynna and Stan round the corner, the autorifle and revolver singing their songs of death in unison. Moss and Chicken Thumbs followed but were left useless. Where he had felt like a hunter moments before, Moss was instantly relegated to a support role with the two now leading them. Though he didn’t want to kill, neither did he want to do nothing.

  “It’s not much further,” Ynna told them as they stepped through the gore. “There will be a lot more at the front so you two asshats may have to actually do something.”

  Her words stung but Moss simply nodded. Chicken Thumbs stepped through the blood and slid, splaying his legs before he splashed to the ground. “Ew,” he said as he tried to right himself, sliding again and landing face first into more of the warm, sticky red liquid.

  “You may have to find a new job,” Ynna said, shaking her head with disgust as he stood, his clothes clinging to his body. Trying to wipe the blood from his eyes simply smeared it more around his pudgy face. The guilt Moss had felt about bringing Issy—the person who betrayed them to the authorities—was somewhat diminished in the face of CT’s seeming ineptitude.


  As they moved further, Stan sidled up to Moss. “Quit hugging the wall like that,” he said, pulling Moss toward the center. “One of those turrets starts firing, lots of bullets will slide along and make short work of your side.”

  “Okay,” Moss said weakly, realizing once again how truly far he was from being the tiger. “Thanks,” he said. “For everything.”

  “I got you,” Stan smiled. “Just remember, you got an important place in all this.”

  Moss would remember that moment for the rest of his days.

  They all huddled as they neared another corner.

  “Lucky ThutoCo doesn’t like straight lines,” Chicken Thumbs observed.

  “Idiot, they are trying to make blind spots and choke points. There are going to be a lot of bodies around this,” Ynna said, not masking her derision.

  “Wish you had saved that grenade,” Stan said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “Stanley, sometimes it’s like you don’t know me at all,” Ynna said with a crooked smile, producing another grenade from beneath her jacket. “Once this hits, we all pop out and lay it down.”

  “Right,” Moss said, making circles with his thumb on the side of his weapon.

  “Let’s see if you’re worth all this trouble,” Ynna added, making Moss more resolute. He was going to prove his worth to them, show them that he wasn’t just some useless bub.

  “Isn’t there some cover we can use?” Chicken Thumbs pleaded, his words running counter to his grim visage.

  “Do you see any fucking cover, CT?” Ynna asked. “We have to get the fuck out of here.”

  Ynna pulled the pin and tossed the grenade. The guards sounded prepared this time, hollering, “incoming!” The narrow corridor was filled with light and sound once more and bullets and beams filled the small space as they stepped around the corner. It seemed to happen faster than Moss’s mind could compute as he pulled the trigger of his weapon, sending blast after blast into the group of seven guards.

  They fired at the group who crouched behind mobile auto-folding metal walls. Chunks of wall and ceiling exploded and rained down, filling the space with rocks and dust as Stan bobbed and weaved toward the group. Moss watched as the only guard who had not lowered his visor looked in shock as the massive man kicked the shield, sending two flying backward.

  Ynna and Moss let loose a barrage as the other guards turned to watch their compatriots. Moss hit one in the helmet, seeing the REGNAD display within the visor. Ynna’s rifle made short work of two more while one man seemed to be merely cowering in terror.

  A loud crack sent chills down Moss’s spine as Stan spun the head of one guard to face backward. The other guard on the ground leveled his weapon as Stan stood. The guard fired a shot which grazed Stan’s shoulder as he moved down the hall. Enraged, Stan pounced and knocked the gun loose before bringing a fist down on the guard’s unprotected face. Blood cascaded as he hit the man again and again with a rage Moss had never before witnessed.

  Moss turned too slowly as the last remaining guard took aim and fired with a trembling hand. Simultaneously, a shot rang out from behind him, killing the guard as Moss’s vision went white with pain. He looked down to see his shoe split open while blood and smoke poured out. Moss collapsed in pain as Ynna made sure the guards were no longer a threat. She turned to see Moss clutching his foot.

  “Shit,” she muttered as she made her way to him. “You all right?”

  “Got shot,” Moss told her, though he knew she was aware. He had never known pain, never experienced anything like the firefight he had just witnessed. The VR games he had played, simulating modern war, were nothing like the carnage before him and the simulated gunshots nothing like the excruciating feeling emanating from his foot. Ynna offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. She produced a small tube from her pocket and pressed a button with her thumb as she placed it against his neck. The atom injector worked instantly, subsiding the pain and making Moss feel as though he could burst through the front door and take on Carcer Corp himself.

  “Thank you,” he said genuinely.

  “No worries, still more to do. Can you walk?” She asked, her fierce eyes looking right into his.

  “Yeah,” he said and stamped the foot which produced a squishing sound but no longer pained him. He looked down to examine the wounded appendage and realized a good chunk of the side was gone. He knew it was the drugs which caused him not to care but he wasn’t bothered by that fact either.

  Clear up top. Rosetta’s working on the front door for y’all but we’ll have company shortly, Burn related.

  Got two squads headed your way, Gibbs informed them.

  They’ll be on us right quick, Burn added.

  We’re clear and headed to you, Ynna told them. She reloaded her autorifle and said aloud, “Let’s move.”

  As Stan had predicted, Moss felt little remorse as he stepped over the people who would have been happy to kill him and had shot his foot. The metallic scent of blood mixed with acrid smoke, dust, seared flesh and plastic filled his nose. He watched Stan rise to his feet, his eyes dark like that of a shark and his posture twisted predatorily. Splatter gleamed against his pale skin; his mesh ripped where the guard had thrashed against him.

  “I was an engineer,” Moss thought aloud.

  “In a past life,” Ynna replied, the barrel of her rifle still seeping a trail of smoke. She knelt and quickly wrapped his foot in a roll of bandage Moss had not even seen her produce.

  “Got that right,” Moss agreed and one side of Ynna’s mouth turned upward slightly.

  “To the front,” Stan ordered, his light affability replaced with a coldness to match his appearance.

  “Still can’t believe you thought I needed rescuing,” Ynna mocked as the group made their way up the hallway toward the front of the structure. Moss marveled at the size and scope of the tunnels which led to such a small building.

  “Communication was shit, got bad intel, made a call,” Stan stated.

  “You must be real fun at parties,” Moss joked as though speaking to Gibbs rather than a murderous pseudo stranger.

  Stan snarled. “Like you’ve ever been to a fucking party.”

  “Cut him some slack, first time he’s been doped, no doubt,” Ynna defended.

  Stan snorted. “And people wonder why I don’t touch the stuff,” Stan said under his breath, but loud enough to be heard.

  “I like regular Stan more,” Moss couldn’t help but joke. Stan spun on him and scruffed him by the shirt, lifting him so his toes just touched the ground.

  “Ferocious Stan is all that’s keeping you and chicken shit alive,” he hissed into Moss’s face.

  “I hate that nickname,” Chicken Thumbs said, cutting the tension.

  “Gibbs used a veto on his,” Moss said as Stan lowered him to the ground wearing a face of disgust which Moss ignored.

  “Who’s Gibbs?” Chicken Thumbs asked.

  “Hey, dingbats, can we get the fuck out of here before Stan does Carcer’s job for them?” Ynna said as she began to walk again. The hallway opened into a large anteroom with security office on one side, large glass windows looking into the space. A huge metal door, large enough for a truck to be backed into, was set into the concrete. A solitary guard squatted at a panel next to the door, attempting to counter whatever Rosetta was doing on the other side. Stan was on him before he knew what hit him, slamming the man’s face so hard into the door that his helmet cracked and visor split.

  “Saved us a bullet.” Chicken Thumbs shrugged as Moss watched the body slump. Moss noted how little protection the armor offered. He wondered if it served more to give them an intimidating appearance than to actually protect them. He decided he would wait to ask, the initial rush of the drugs having worn off.

  Thanks, guys, Rosetta said. I’ll get it now.

  An eerie calm descended as they waited for the door to open, Stan pacing impatiently and Ynna checking and reloading her weapon.

  “How’d they get you?” Mo
ss asked Chicken Thumbs to fill the silence, his voice reverberating down the hall. The young man chuckled.

  “On my way to meet you, I was stopped by BurbSec. Tried to talk my way out of it the way I’ve seen her do a hundred times, but they didn’t buy it,” he explained.

  “You were probably shaking like a fucking leaf and sweating like a stuck pig,” Ynna chided.

  “Yeah, I stick out like a sore—” he began, his voice rising with the joke.

  “Don’t you fucking say it, bloodbath,” Ynna interrupted, but Chicken Thumbs smirked anyway.

  Got it, Rosetta informed them as the massive door thumped and began to slide open, revealing them working at a panel on the outside. Burn and Judy had their backs to them, pointing weapons to the sky. Moss took a breath of the clean air as it poured into the hallway.

  No sooner than Moss had taken the one free breath than the dark sky became dotted with approaching Carcer guards, the flashing red lights from their drones announcing their arrival. Moss knew what happened next unfolded in mere seconds but the stim slowed time as the action began.

  Burn sent a line into the air, one guard’s legs falling to the earth as his upper half went careening into a building in an explosion which shook the structure. Judy sprayed the sky with what amounted to fireworks, the bursts of cascading sparks causing more guards to recalculate their descent. Two were able to land, firing shots which scattered Judy and Burn. Ynna and Stan ran out into the open, the autorifle screaming shots which felled one of the guards. The other paused just long enough to point in the direction of Moss who lifted his weapon in what felt like slow motion.

  He heard the pop of the weapon in the distance and felt the blood spray his face. He gritted his teeth and he felt his thumb move as Rosetta’s head jerked to the wall in a crimson splat. He pulled the trigger and felt the recoil this time as the blue electric streamed toward the man, blasting open his armor. The second shot exploded his chest open in a mixture of smoke and carnage.

  He knew what he had done.