Getting into the shuttle, Dixon informs the driver of their destination. Nodding from behind the black helmet attached to the ceiling of the shuttle he turns back, gripping the throttle and pushing it forward, the noise of the propulsion rumbles as they take off. The shuttle soars over the clouds for several miles. Jimmy looks out the windows at the endless waves of clouds. Feeling almost like they were flying off to the end of a story, he admires the beauty.
After a few minutes, the shuttle begins to descend. Piercing into the cloud floor once again, the cabin goes dark, emerging through the clouds and back into the grimmer daylight of the lower level. Rain pouring down on the city as if Poseidon wanted to wash it away, the drops of water batter the shuttle and almost deafens its’s passengers.
As they descend closer to buildings the lights reflect off the droplets, making it harder to distinguish objects. Blues, purples, greens and reds bounce around almost like a disco. Dixon looks into the cockpit, the driver appears unfazed. The helmet no doubt using a built-in scanner and projector to display a HUD with everything clear as day. The drivers head switches right quickly looking at something in the distance. He alters the course of the shuttle and a light beeping can be heard from the cockpit, the rain almost drowning it out. Dixon listens closely, the beeping sound closer to a warning than anything else.
The driver slaps at something in the cockpit and the lights in the cabin fade darker, all three of them turning a dark red.
“Gentlemen, please harness yourself in,” the guard says, as he pulls the arm straps off his own seat and clips himself in.
“What’s going on?” Jimmy asks, as he manages to fumble his arms through the harness.
“I’m sure it’s just the bad weather. Don’t worry, this pilot’s an ace.” says the guard, his tone confident.
As Dixon clips the buckle on his harness, he sees the pilot look off to the right again, slamming at the control wheel. The shuttle quickly spins, completing a full aileron roll, bright light fills the cabin for a second and shoots on past them. Dixon and Jimmy try to gather their bearings from suddenly being thrust upside down. The guards face no longer looks back reassuringly, but now shows concern as he looks out of the windows, trying to trace the light.
“Missile!” The pilot shouts back as he begins evasive manoeuvres. The shuttle ducks lower between the buildings as several sharp bursts of light shoot past. Looking out the back window, Dixon sees the pulse rounds firing furiously from the front of a black slim line. As the gunfire stops and both shuttles sharply turn amongst buildings, the outline of the rival becomes clearer.
A matte black vessel looking almost as flat as a stingray, save for the wing tips which split out. Two large mini-guns churn out more rounds in their direction, as the targeting system tries to get a lock for the barrage of missiles waiting to be loosed on either side of the cockpit. The pilot cannot be seen due to the tinting of the windshield. A thin red line peaks the tip of the shuttle, almost a sinister grin of light.
The gunfire from the black enemy pierces through several buildings, and as both shuttles edge lower and lower, the wake of their flightpaths drag up garbage from the street. Dust and dirt speed along like fog chasing the two vehicles.
“Hold on!” the pilot shouts as he yanks back on the wheel. The shuttle quickly begins to ascend at a sharp angle. As he does so, he curves the shuttle around an apartment block. People run to their windows as they pass, shaking the windows.
As they reach the apex of the building, the pilot quickly cuts the engines and slams on the air brake and rudders, flipping the shuttle to point straight down to the earth. In the view downwards, the black shuttle can be seen circling the structure as it ascends, unable to fly up as quickly, but able to corner far more sharply. As gravity wraps its hand around the Halo shuttle, the pilot smashes the engines back to full power. Jimmy and Dixon try to hold onto their inner organs as they violently descend.
The pilot spins the shuttle counterclockwise around the building, in a conflicting path to the black shuttle flight pattern. On opposite sides, the circle closer and closer, until finally, the Halo shuttle descends below the black one. Pulling out the pilot fires off over the city top.
“Think we’ll be alright now” the pilot looks back, giving a thumbs up, the guard breathing a little easier in the chair.
“Who was that?” Jimmy asks.
“Best bet? A Fenghuang ship. They occasionally try and pick off some of our delivery ships, and blame gangs and hijackers for it. They’ve never come after this ship before though. ID tags should make them know better” the guard says.
Dixon looks out of the back window as the rain and refracting light consumes the cabin again. The engine trail of the black shuttle still ascends the building. Just as he is about to turn around and unbuckle to relax, he notices the red tip of the shuttle go out. Nearly two thirds up the building, the shuttle also cuts its engines, almost instantaneously turning to face away from the building and in their direction.
A ball of light shines from the building as the engines kick back in, and the shuttle almost kicks off the building. Windows shatter and the holes left in their place singe like freshly burned paper.
“We’re not done yet” Dixon shouts to the pilot. Before he can finish repeating to the questioning pilot, a plethora of phosphorous lights spread out of the black shuttle and begin quickly gaining ground on them.
“Missile barrage incoming!” the guard shouts, peering out the back. Again the pilot attempts to roll his way deeper towards the city buildings. This time missiles close in on either side, above and below. Edging closer and boxing in the shuttle one missile cuts closer and explodes about five feet away. The pilot adjusts as best he can, but can’t pull the shuttle out of a sudden dive. Further missiles cut in to take a stab, exploding around the shuttle as they nearly skim off a building top. The shuttle shakes violently as the explosions vibrate through the chassis. Instruments in the cockpit flicker, some turn off entirely. Bolts and welded seals begin to clatter, as the shuttle struggles to hold itself together. The pilot then screams in fear.
“Brace for impact” The final missile in chase hits with one of the rear engines, launching the shuttle into a corkscrew. It smashes through the corner of a large office building and falls like a poorly thrown stone.
Chapter 21
Smashing through the roof of another building, the shuttle had come to a rest in a wrecked heap in the middle of a production factory. Dixon and Jimmy hang from their harnesses as the Shuttle faces nose downwards into a series of robotic machines. The other parts of the factory still churn away, oblivious to the huge hole in the roof and demolished production line.
Dixon’s eyes lightly flicker open. A view of a crumpled cabin before him, the guard still in his seat, buckled in tightly. He no longer looks like a robot impersonating a human, the crash bending the chassis that held his seat in place. A few seconds pass before Dixon realises that the guard’s neck has moved around seven inches to the left, and his hips and limbs sit at a most inhuman angle. Small droplets of blood drip from his mouth and a couple of cuts elsewhere.
The shock kicks in, and Dixon recalls what had happened moments earlier. Blinking he looks across to Jimmy, still unconscious, but certainly still pieced together correctly. A couple of small cuts mark his face from the glass that must have shattered in the back window. Pulling his dangling arms up, Dixon releases himself from the harness.
Nearly landing on top of the guard, he sees just how bad the man’s body was broken. There was no way that this man could have been a robot, not with the remnants of human organs Dixon could now see inside the poor soul.
Unfortunately, the manufacturing lines production of metal rods, used for adding strength to walls had skewered through the pilot and held him in a terrifying pose. His arms up covering his face, clearly, he knew the inevitability of his fate. The rods poke through the back of the pilot and glimmer clean. The lower portions of the rods grow a dark scarlet as blood runs down them. Di
xon turns back to Jimmy.
“Hey buddy, come on, wake up,” he says, combatting the dizzy feeling in his head, while lightly slapping Jimmy’s face. No response.
“You ain’t dying on me, ugly” he slaps Jimmy harder, his head jolting in reply but still nothing. Dixon places two fingers on his neck and finds a pulse, taking a sigh of relief, he unbuckles Jimmy.
“Nearly had me there” Jimmy’s body slumps onto Dixon’s shoulder, as he then reaches for the manual release on the door. Turning the handle upwards the door ejects off the side of the shuttle and clatters into the back of the factory. Dixon gets his footing set to climb out of the shuttle with Jimmy as he is blinded by light once again. This time the light brings him a little out of the shock that had set into him. Pain thunders through his head like a sledgehammer and he squints to look up.
“Well hello there gorgeous,” a voice says, before several arms pull Jimmy free from Dixon’s grip. Dixon shields his eyes from the light before more arms wrap around him and pull him free from the wreckage. Still being blinded he asks, “You’ve got to help us, we just got attacked” his panic falls on deaf ears and he is shoved off of the manufacturing line.
Several boots can be heard moving around him as a silhouetted figure approaches him.
“We are here to help” a calm viperous voice whispers in his ear, and is sharply followed be a brutal club to the back of his head. Darkness.
Chapter 22
Water splashes on Dixon’s face, a cheap trick to wake someone from being knocked unconscious. The difference is that unlike the movies people don’t spring to life again after this. Dixon slowly emerges from his slumber, the cold and damp of the water slightly soothing to the rest of the feelings he grows aware of.
“Look alive, big guy,” a voice says to him, slightly familiar. Dixon recalls it as the voice that spoke to him before he was knocked out. Raising his head and looking around his arms feel tired and sore, both of them tied above his head with tight nylon straps and metal buckles. His joints ache and muscles swarm with waves of agony, the result of having been in a crash then assaulted and carelessly moved to an unknown location. His jacket discarded and his shirt removed, his bare chest heaving in the cold of the room, steam rises from his skin.
Looking up Dixon see the person talking to him, as he tries to stop himself from falling unconscious again. A short man stands with his arms behind his back. Dixon on his knees - the man stands just at eye level with him, smiling. A dark armour surrounds his body, masking his physique a little. Dixon surmises that if someone wears armour like that, and meets people in this fashion he is probably someone to watch out for.
The armour appears almost like a series of shimmering black pads stuck to a second skin suit. The second skin looking almost carbon fibre like and the pads backlit with a yellow hue.
“You’re a nosey one, Mr Callaway,” the man says “should have learned to stay out of things when you retired. Now we’re going to need to extract as much information as possible before you breathe your last insignificant puff.” He steps closer to Dixon, a picture of David and Goliath, if David had been a sadistic hunter who liked to toy with his prey. Parting his hands from behind his back, he shows that he is holding a plasma baton with two hooks at the top end of it, sharp metal surging with power.
“If you give me what then you won’t have to get acquainted with my tools.” The man inspects the baton, the red light illuminating his face like a child holds a torch to their face, when they tell ghost stories. “Fail to provide me with what I want, and this is only the first tool you’ll get to know intimately. It’s going to be fun breaking you, I’m sure your friend will enjoy the screams he hears from the next room.”
“Fuck you,” Dixon says, spitting at the man, sweat pouring down his chest. The short man smiles again and props Dixon’s head up with the baton, the energy pulsing into his chin not expelling the full charge. Whipping the baton back the man spins around with martial art precision. The baton sharply collides with Dixon’s right side, digging into his ribs.
Dixon screams in pain, the plasma singeing his flesh and coursing through his muscles, as the bladed hook digs in and scrapes at the bone.
“Where were you headed in the Halo shuttle?” The man asks.
“Your mother’s,” Dixon says, while gritting his teeth. The baton turns and widens the wound sending more pain through his abdomen.
“Where?” The man asks again. Dixon breathes heavily, mustering the strength to hurl another insult. “I bet you were heading off to rescue that pretty ex-wife of yours.”
“You leave Sadie alone!” Dixon looks into the man’s eyes. The mention of Sadie sending adrenaline coursing through his body, instantly the pain subsides. “I’ll tear you apart if you touch her.”
“I look forward to it. What did you talk to Tom Sutcliffe about?” the man asks another question.
“Tom? He just came from your mother’s” Dixon manages to push a sharp chuckle through the pain. The baton swiftly exits the small hole and swings round in a flurry. Colliding with the other side the man throws a kick into the original wound. His foot may be one of the smallest Dixon has ever taken, but the force and technique used almost shatter his entire rib cage.
“Your buddy is getting questioned next door you know. You think he’s going to try and put on this brave act as well?” the man says leaning in. Dixon smells the unsubtle aftershave he’s caked himself in.
“Jimmy isn’t going to tell you shit, just like I won’t. Nice to know you want to hear about Tom Sutcliffe though. He’s going to want to shove that toy up your ass after he finds out you killed his personal guard and wrecked his ride.” Dixon smiles, receiving a punch for his troubles, his lip bursting instantly.
“Tom might get pissed with us, but he isn’t going to stop us chopping you up and feeding you both piece by piece to the rats in Chinatown,” The man says pulling the baton from Dixon’s ribs and stepping back, curling down in a martial arts pose the man breathes in heavily.
“Now, how did you find out that Chester Lopez was in possession of the dossier?”
With blood lining the bottom row of his teeth, Dixon flashes a disgusting smile. “I told you already, your mother told us”. He coughs a little of the blood as he laughs. His stomach tightening up as it cringes and aches.
The man spins the baton around himself quickly and cartwheels towards Dixon, shooting into the air in a large arching flip, the baton glimmering into focus as it swings down.
“Yanluo!”
The man halts the baton’s bladed tip just next to Dixon’s neck. The warmth of the plasma boiling the sweat on his skin. The man’s head turns to the entrance of the dark room. Nothing is present in the room, barely any light aside from the spotlight on Dixon. Matte black tiles lead to the door in formation, where the silhouette of a female figure stands.
“That’s enough!” the voice of the woman commands sharply. The man, Yanluo, steps back and faces the woman as she begins to approach, stopping next to him. He bows and departs to the side of the room. Tapping a tile, a chunk of the wall bevels outwards and slides open, a selection of close quarters combat weapons hang from the revealed cabinet. Knives, scythes, hammers, oddly shaped bladed weapons, presumably used for specific levels of torture. He turns off the plasma and wipes the bladed end on his glove before placing it in an empty slot on the wall. Turning back he leans against the wall with one foot bent onto it, watching Dixon intently from afar.
“Mr Callaway, I’m glad I can meet with you face to face. I always find a more personal interaction carries weight.” The woman says, still drenched in darkness. Her accent tinted with a faint Chinese discipline.
“And you are?” Dixon asks, his strong build hulking before her. She takes two steps forward into the light, black stilettos emerge from the darkness and thin legs follow.
“My name is Myra Yang,” she says as the rest of her body is revealed. A black Chinese dress lined with red frames her leg and waist. Red flowers swirl aro
und a bird that ascends the left side of the dress. The eye on the bird, a ruby that shines, once in the light. Her hair tied up in a graceful knot at the top of her head allowing one curtain to drop down her back. She must be in her mid to late forties. Dixon notices she doesn’t have two chopsticks holding her hair in place, but two miniature dao swords.
“I am the CEO of Fenghuang” Her dark red lipstick parting for her snake tongue to almost flicker as she talks. Her eyes appear to drip red as she peers into Dixon’s face and character.
“You came all the way down here to speak to me? I guess I should be grateful” Dixon says.
“Oh, Mr Dixon, please. We here at Fenghuang have always prided ourselves on our meticulous attention to the finer details in life. I myself take a great interest as to why people do what they do. It gives you a better understanding of those around you” she leans forward slightly, “and how to exploit them.” She turns and circles around him, her leg edging out of the slit in her dress. Dixon watches her stalk around him.
“I bet that you are also wondering why we are doing what we are doing. It’s quite simple really, control.” She slithers around to the other side quickly, catching Dixon in surprise as she talks into his ear. “Control over the situations around us allows us to dictate how we would like them to result. Like a bookie having a tip that a boxer will lose a match at a certain round. Having full knowledge of your intentions gives us that advantages.”
She returns to the front of him. “I suppose you want to understand why we had that merger put in place though? Truth is, there was never a scheme to try and infiltrate Halo. It wasn’t even our idea, to begin with.”
“What? Who the hell was it then?” Dixon asks confused.
“That would be where I come in” A familiar voice echoes.
Chapter 23
The voice cutting into Dixon’s attention, he notices a figure shadowing behind Myra Yang. Had he been there the whole time?
Neon Haze: Snakes and Roses Page 12