Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2)

by Bard Constantine

  Vigil: Inferno Season

  A Havenworld Novel

  Bard Constantine

  Vigil: Inferno Season is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  Help stop piracy. If you believe this novel was made available by illegal means, please report it to the author at http://bardwritesbooks.com

  Copyright © 2021 Bard Constantine

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by J Caleb Design (https://www.jcalebdesign.com/)

  Other Books in the Havenworld Universe

  ❖ Havenworld

  ❖ Silent Empire

  ❖ The Troubleshooter: Four Shots

  ❖ The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues

  ❖ The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame

  ❖ The Troubleshooter: Fears in the Rain

  ❖ Nimrod Squad

  ❖ Syn City: Reality Bytes

  ❖ The Gunner Chronicles: Fire and Brimstone

  After the Cataclysm nearly wiped out humanity, the remnants survived in Havens: city-sized constructs built to reboot society and usher in a new age of mankind.

  However, the new age was not the type the architects had envisioned. The same greed and lust for power that existed before the Cataclysm resurfaced, and the Havens quickly became quagmires of political and economic conflict that threatened to destroy the future envisioned by the Haven's founders.

  This is the world of Jett Wolfe, a man awakened from a grim past to a darker future. A man without a purpose. But when a masked vigilante dies saving his life, Jett becomes a man with a mission. He takes up the mantle of a cyber knight in a city without hope. When your life is on the line, and there is no one to call, look to the skyline. You just might see a new breed of hero.

  Jett Wolfe is...

  This city is an animal, and its appetite is insatiable.

  You walk the streets like I do. You know the fear, the uncertainty when you go back and forth to the store, when you go to work, when you visit your loved ones. You wonder if today is the day.

  The day that you don't make it back home.

  Because vampires haunt the city. They hunger for pain and violence; they delight in bloodshed. To them, you're not a person. You're not a parent or child or friend or co-worker. You're prey. You're food. You're a victim.

  Like me.

  But we have seen the light. We have been shown the way. The way of the V: defiant, fearless, protective. He has demonstrated that fear can be fought, monsters can be hurt, demons can be slain. But one man can't fight for all of us. We have to follow his example and take back our streets. Take back our neighborhoods, take back our city.

  Take back our lives.

  Because we are the Cult of V, and we are ready to fight back.

  This is Sentry, reminding all of you to stay Vigilant.

  -manifesto 44, posted on the Cult of V memo board.

  Chapter 1: Embers

  Good evening, Neo-Yorkers. You're with Cam Danvers on another NYN Fast Break. It has been nearly six months since the riots of last winter, but the city still feels like it's reeling from the aftereffects. And the current conditions aren't helping. The forecast is more record-breaking heat with no relief in sight, which will undoubtedly only worsen conditions for a city on edge. Violent crime has exploded in the Five Districts with turf war battles between rival syndicates, and vigilante activity continues to rise as common citizens are inspired by the reported reappearance of Vigil, Neo York's self-appointed protector. It has been nearly twenty years since his last reported sighting, which means either a senior citizen is beating criminals senseless, or the person currently in the cyber-suit is a copycat who adopted the mantle.

  RCE and city board officials have yet to comment on the matter, but one thing is certain: the so-called Cult of V is spreading its influence through social media, using a coded system of hashtags and phrases to coordinate their efforts and encourage more vigilante action. The result so far has been chaos as clashes between would-be saviors and criminal elements have left injuries and casualties on both sides.

  Today also marks the one-month mark since self-made billionaire Richard Kent died in his Manhaven penthouse by apparent suicide. When asked about the case, RCE chief Roberts informed reporters that his forensics team found no signs of foul play, leaving the question of why a man with so much would choose to end his life at the height of his success.

  Ⓥ

  Slick threw a furtive look over his shoulder, taking a hard drag from his vape. The nitrix hit wasn't anywhere what it used to be, forcing him to smoke nonstop just to get a buzz. He wasn't on point unless he was fully buzzed, and he needed to be on point because he was one of the lookouts. He pushed up his X-ray goggles and wiped a hand across his forehead, pulling it away dripping wet. It was blistering hot, and the towering buildings only made things worse. They provided a measure of shade but trapped heat, leaving the broken streets so hot that they radiated, intensifying the miserable humidity. The sunlight stabbed fiery rays of brilliance through the gaps in between buildings as if trying to slice off his eyeballs.

  He took another drag on his vape, eyes narrowing as he peered into the shadows. Every alleyway, every silhouette appeared hostile, hiding phantom movement he only glimpsed from the corner of his eye. He shifted, taking a backward glance at the crew of Crimson Kings transferring crates of guns and ammunition from a semi-skimmer to several vans for distribution. The CKs wore their red colors proudly, loose and baggy with a wild assortment of hoodies, goggles, and masks on their heads and faces. Most had the bloody crown emblem stitched somewhere on their outfits, something Slick didn't understand. Wearing an obvious marker made them targets as far as he was concerned. He wore his red to represent: oversized puffy with the mouth-shield collar pulled up and a black slugger on his head; baggy black cargo stubs, and fye kicks. But there were times when he had to leave the King's turf and go to another District. Sometimes by himself. Better to be inconspicuous. Especially since he didn't have any close friends anymore. Ever since Kane got zotzed, people started avoiding him. And that was before he got jumped by Vigil.

  His shoulders clenched at the thought. He'd been abandoned by the rest of the crew when Vigil showed up in the Underbelly and manhandled him like a child until he spilled his guts. He didn't even tell Vigil anything important, just where the nearest Diabolis hideout was. He wasn't even part of Diabolis, so it didn't count as snitching in his book. But the word got out. Not only was he one of the few people to have seen Vigil in person, but Vigil knew him by name.

  Ever since then, everyone avoided him like he was contagious.

  He had to beg to get assignments, trying to prove himself and work back into the CK's good graces. His current captain couldn't stand him and ridiculed him constantly, but at least Headhunter gave him a shot. His crew was probably the weakest in the syndicate, but it was still better than being out there alone. If you weren't in a syndicate then you were prey, something Slick knew all about. So he kept his head down and did whatever he was told. But all the while, his pocket burned from the datcom he kept with him at all time. Vigil's datcom. He couldn't carry it on him, and
he couldn't throw it away. Vigil said he'd call him. If he threw it away and Vigil found him…

  He shuddered.

  His dreams were haunted by the V-shaped visor flashing red like demonic eyes, the guttural robot voice demanding answers. The brute strength of a single punch left Slick's entire midsection bruised and his bottom ribs cracked. He never wanted to see Vigil again but lived in constant fear of the certainty that he would. When that happened, he was finished. No syndicate would touch him, and any one of them would probably merc him on sight if Vigil left him alive afterward.

  Stop worrying and focus on the job, numbtard.

  Brushing away another trickle of sweat, he slid the goggles back on, transforming his surroundings into transparent dark/light representations. Good for around a hundred yards, he was able to see through walls and inside buildings, assuring no one could sneak up on them in the middle of their venture. A stray tomcat strolled by, reduced to a skeleton by the headgear. He shooed it away, ignoring its warning hiss.

  It was only by chance that he glanced up and saw the ghostly figure lurking in the building window three stories up. His heart exploded into overdrive when he snatched the goggles off and stared. The room was darkened, but he caught a glimpse of a dark helmet, a glowing visor…

  Vigil. Oh no, no, no…

  Before he could open his mouth, the man fired a smoke grenade. It detonated near the vans, expelling a thick cloud of acrid black smoke, causing the CKs to shout in alarm and snatch up weapons. Slick ran in their direction, waving his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs.

  "It's him. It's Vigil!"

  Headhunter stormed out of the smoke, plasma rifle in hand. A sinister skull was painted on his face, and several ropes of bullets clicked against his bare, muscular chest. The CK captain scanned the buildings with his targeting scope, gold-plated teeth clamped together. "Job was to bark before an attack, ball-sack. You fired."

  Slick sputtered a protest, but was shoved aside by the other CKs, who fanned out with weapons snatched from the gun crates.

  "Where he is?"

  "Can't see nothing!"

  "Goggles on, gas-brain."

  "I seen something. Over there!"

  A shadow burst from the smoke, firing twin handguns, muzzles flashing through the haze. Several CKs screamed as they were struck, blood spurting from rounds that turned their flesh into hamburger. The rest retaliated with a thunderous volley of close-range gunshots. Slick clapped hands over his ears and fell to the ground as bodies dropped and curses rang in the air.

  In seconds, it was over.

  He sat up, blinking. The smoke had nearly dissipated, giving him a clear look at the majority of the CKs, who crowded around the body convulsing on the ground. Slick scrambled to his feet and took a closer look.

  The man dying on the broken asphalt wasn't Vigil.

  He wore a makeshift outfit of military surplus gear, including a flak jacket that didn't protect him from the plasma rounds that punched right through. His helmet had fallen off, and his infrared visor was shattered. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five. Sweat slicked his face, and his teeth were gritted, stifling his agonized groans from the wounds that perforated his body.

  "Oh … God, it hurts," he gasped, staring at the men who shot him as if expecting them to help. Tears trickled from his eyes. "Please … call a Rescue unit."

  Headhunter propped his rifle on his shoulder, grinning through his skull paint. "Oh, you want help? Here, got some for you."

  Pointing the rifle downward, he fired the kill shot. As a dark stain spread around the vigilante's head, the CKs whooped and hi-fived, waving their weapons in celebration.

  "Did that, dun."

  "Straight aborted dat azz."

  "Tapped dat skully."

  "Harshed his mellow."

  "Toe-tagged dat stiff, cuz."

  Headhunter raised his weapon. "You see that, braz? We just smoked Vigil. We gonna be legends!"

  Slick edged closer. "Not Vigil."

  The crew quieted down as Slick knelt next to the corpse. Headhunter sneered.

  "How you know what Vigil look like, squirrely?'

  "'Cause I seen Vigil. He a beast. Way bigger than this guy. Better armor too."

  "Must be one of those Vigilant clowns," one of the others said.

  "Posers. Dey everywhere now."

  Headhunter shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. Still snuffed this slouch, doh. Let's get those crates packed and head out before shields show up."

  "Yeah, gunshot report prob out by now."

  "We hidden from evil eyes, right?"

  "Slick supposed to handle."

  Headhunter turned to Slick. "You activate the dampeners?"

  Slick trembled when all eyes turned to him. He knew there was something he forgot to do.

  "DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER NOW," a mechanical voice boomed, the sound echoing all around them.

  Dust kicked up when an RCE chopper swooped down in between the buildings. Disorienting lights flickered, and eardrum-shattering sonic whined. The CKs scattered as drone soldiers jumped out of the helicopter, black armor gleaming, blue lights flashing from their insectoid helmets. Some of the CKs stood their ground, opening fire on the robotic police units.

  Slick didn't.

  Yelling, he dropped low and ran as fast as he could, heart slamming against his chest, bullets whining around him, dust kicking up, shouts and screams ringing in his ears, the scent of hot metal in his nostrils, sandpaper coating his tongue. He ran until the sounds faded, until he joined crowds of people in the streets of the closest avenue, shoving and bouncing off startled bodies. He ran until his legs gave out and he crashed to the hot sidewalk, ignored by passersby as he puked his guts out and cursed the day he ever laid eyes on the Crimson Kings.

  Ⓥ

  Ronnie Banks sighed as she exited from her RCE aerodyne into the sweltering heat. Officers and forensic androids secured the scene and tallied the damage. From what she saw, it amounted to a lot of dead bodies. She glanced at Isaac as he emerged from the passenger side.

  "I swear, how many times does this happen? It was supposed to be a sting op, not a massacre. We're supposed to have bangers in cuffs, not body bags."

  Her metallic-skinned partner's neon-blue eyes flashed as he surveyed the scene, recording footage for post-op evaluation. "That's what happens when drones take point on missions. Target and destroy."

  "Yeah, I keep telling the Chief we need warm bodies on point, but he won't budge."

  "Well, fewer officers have been killed since the mandate." Isaac looked at his gleaming, robotic hands. I like to think my … incident had something to do with that."

  She gave him an empathetic look. "I didn't mean to—"

  "No worries, Ronnie. It is what it is."

  They passed lines of officers and investigators who looked up and gave Ronnie respectful nods and greetings.

  "Captain."

  "Captain.

  She still wasn't used to the new rank, but after she arrested Denizens of Haven Core and got away with it, Commissioner Miller didn't really have a choice but to promote her. And she couldn't help but suspect that Miller's ulterior motive was thinking that with the new rank, she'd spend less time in the streets.

  If so, he thought wrong.

  The men averted their gaze or ignored Isaac. In their eyes, he was an abomination, some unnatural mix of man and machine. Even officers that used to work with him kept their distance. Her mouth tightened, but there wasn't anything she could do about their feelings. Isaac's body might have been in a vegetative state, but a part of his mind was still active, linked to the robot body through a remote neural interface. His android face wasn't as expressive as his real one, but he still acted like her partner, and nothing could change how she saw him. She knew that the other officers looked at him as a possibility for their own futures, and most couldn't stomach the thought.

  Isaac claimed that it didn't bother him, but his posture indicated his discomfort even in a robot
form. He was a towering giant at nearly seven feet tall, but he didn't cut his way through the crowd as he could have. Instead, he carefully weaved past the other officers, apologizing to any he brushed along the way.

  Ronnie spotted the Enforcement squad leader and groaned inwardly. "Sergeant Brooks."

  Brooks was tall and lean, narrowed-faced and hard-eyed. She wore her armored black jumpsuit and gear as if born in it, unhampered by the cyber-enhanced headgear and exo-spine that most found uncomfortable. She turned from giving directions to a trooper and snapped a salute to Ronnie.

  "Captain."

  Ronnie glanced at the line of body bags that a pair of slim, gunmetal androids prepared to load into a waiting coroner's van. "We prepped this sting for a week. What the hell happened?"

  "Sorry, Captain. We had an unexpected variable no one accounted for."

  "What kind of variable?"

  "The Vigilant kind." She pointed to a corpse that hadn't been zipped up yet.

  Ronnie crouched down for a closer look. "Great. Another dead wanna-be Vigil."

  "He must have already been staking out the job and was here right before us. He jumped the gun, got himself killed, and woke up the threat alerts on our drone officers."

  "Drones aren't officers, Sergeant. They're weapons."

  Brooks gave Isaac a wary eye before answering. "The drone … units treated the situation aggressively—"

  "—by shooting to kill, I know. That's why everyone calls them street sweepers. But they can set their weapons to stun. I want to know why that wasn't the case."

  Brooks stiffened. "Some of these bangers have better armor suits than we do. They laugh off stun blasts. The Commissioner stresses protecting personnel, pushing quick and overwhelming force to quell any potential for—"

  Ronnie interrupted with a dismissive hand wave. "I read the policy, Sergeant. But look around. Do you see anyone that's going to talk? All we have to show for this bust are bodies and one shipment of contraband firearms. The ones that got away will go to ground and tighten their security. This is a dead end in more ways than one."