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

by Bard Constantine

  Tiny missiles fired from his g-spans and shoulder-mounted launcher that popped up from his armor. The detonations struck Agent Red point-blank, destroying his armor, knocking him back over a dozen yards before he collapsed, smoke rising from the cavities in his combat gear.

  The hallway door burst inward, and the Blood Boyz entered, fanning their weapons over the demolished room. They wore red and black tactical gear and cyber-enhanced insectoid helmets on their heads. Seeing Vigil, they raised their tac-rifles.

  "You're dead!"

  A missile fired from the jet-cycle, striking the group before they could react. They flew across the room, rebounding off walls and skidding across the broken tiles. Vigil turned to look at Slick, who hunched over the controls of the bike, eyes crazed. Vigil limped over and motioned Slick to the rear seat.

  "I'll take it from here."

  Painfully straddling the pilot seat, he hit the thrusters, flying out of the ruined building in a shower of dust and broken glass that glimmered in the neon light.

  His leg throbbed like a heartbeat of pure agony. Gritting his teeth, he tried to focus, muscles straining against the force of rushing air and gravity, eyes alert for signs of pursuit. Fortunately, Agent Red had been overconfident, without a backup plan in case things went south. Vigil weaved between buildings anyway, descending into the darker depths to a place he knew in the Warrens. The retro-thrusters hissed, and he landed the cycle beside a half-broken wreck of a building in the gloomiest section of town. He glanced over his shoulder at Slick, who clutched his waist tightly, knuckles white, teeth clenched.

  "You can let go now. We've landed."

  Slick blinked open his eyes, released his grip, and slowly slid off the seat, sagging to the ground with a shuddering sigh of relief.

  Vigil glanced down at him. "End of the line, Slick. Either get out of the city or lay low so deep that no one can find you."

  Slick's eyes blurred when he looked up. "Why … did you save me?"

  "Saving people is what I do."

  "But … I backstabbed you, told them where to find you."

  "Then you risked your life to get us out. Learn from it, Slick. Not many people get that kind of chance."

  Hitting the thrusters, Vigil took the cycle skyward and cleared the rooftops, leaving Slick to the darkness of the crumbling structures and ancient tenements. Heat rippled from the tops of buildings, radiated from his injured leg. His muscles quivered, his armor felt heavy and uncomfortable. He slumped over the handlebars, completely drained.

  Ⓥ

  Qhawa raised an eyebrow. "Tough night?"

  Jett towered over her in the doorway, face etched with exhaustion, slumped against the frame as if he'd fall over if he took another step. His armor was powdered with dust and ash, his tarnished helmet propped in the crook on his arm.

  "You could say that. Mind if I come in?"

  "I don't know. What would my neighbors say?"

  "You don't have any. I know you own this entire strip of brownstones."

  She smiled, motioning for him to enter. "You're moving like you're injured. Take off the armor."

  He complied, unstrapping the fabric mesh armor and dropped it on the floor before collapsing on her padded bamboo sofa. Wincing, he removed the epidermis underlayer and set it beside him. The chiseled muscles of his arms and torso were covered in bruises, new layers over fading ones. A gel cast covered one of his lower legs. He grunted when she inspected his ribcage, judging his injuries with experienced fingers.

  "Feels like you have several hairline fractures. You'll need X-rays to be certain."

  He shrugged. "The AHPP will take care of it."

  She tsked, shaking her head. "The Accelerated Healing Process Pod is a last resort. Arthur should have told you that."

  "Last resort?"

  "The body isn't meant to be healed so quickly. There are repercussions if long amounts of rest aren't taken between sessions."

  "I didn't take a rest after my first time."

  She ran a hand across his muscular arm, examining the injuries. "You were at your physical peak at that point. Fresh out of stasis, where your body was developed to top form. You've seen a lot of wear and tear since then. You would need much rest if you used the AHPP. I have a mini version here in the lab. I'll use it for the leg only. Should mend the break, but you'll need to be very careful afterward."

  He shrugged. "I can be careful."

  She scoffed. "As if you have that kind of common sense." Turning, she cupped a hand to her mouth. "Mira!"

  Jett slapped his hand against his brow. "Please don't."

  Mira jogged around the corner, eyes widening when she saw Jett. "What happened to you, yo?"

  "Slipped on a banana peel."

  A wry grin curved her lips. "Yeah, right. Guess you ain't ragging on me no more about getting hurt."

  Qhawa glanced at her. "Guess you're not ragging on me anymore. None of that streetspeak in my house, remember? Now, make yourself useful and get a compression wrap for his ribs."

  Mira nodded and ducked into the hallway, returning with the medical supplies. Together, they wrapped the sensor-woven wrap around Jett's midsection. He stiffened, then relaxed when the sensors distributed proteolytic enzymes to the damaged tissue. Afterward, they sat him on the couch, propped up his leg, and encased it in a cylindrical device that encircled his calf and tortured the flesh with tiny endorphin stabs and platelet accelerators. He hissed, gritting his teeth and trying to ignore Mira's amused grin.

  Qhawa stepped back with an appraising nod. "Keep the rib wrap on for five days. It will help your injuries heal faster without the shock of the AHPP. The leg sleeve will have to stay on overnight."

  He nodded absently. "Thanks."

  "Anything else you need, or is this just a medical visit?"

  He frowned, staring at the floor. "I think ... I need your help."

  Qhawa glanced at Mira, whose eyes gleamed with anticipation. "What kind of help?"

  "I found out that Cerberus is a three-headed organization: Diabolis supplies, Grim Reaper Posse provides security and transport, while Crimson Kings distributes. I want to move on them in a way they don't expect: a trident attack—three simultaneous raids. Since you've already been investigating them—"

  "Spitfire is the one that's been investigating."

  He paused as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He looked at Mira, speaking as if the words pained him.

  "Fine. Since Spitfire was investigating them, I'm asking you to assist me in taking them down."

  A fierce grin spread across Mira's face. "Natch."

  "Good. You can concentrate on the Crimson Kings distribution centers while I—"

  Mira folded her arms, jaw set stubbornly. "No go. I want Diabolis."

  Jett folded his arms, jaw set stubbornly. "You're not getting Diabolis, so forget it."

  She shrugged. "Fine. I take GRP."

  He grimaced in frustration. "Gotta crawl before you walk, Mira."

  "You asking me for help, remember?"

  He looked at Qhawa for help, but she simply raised a wry eyebrow. "She has a point, Jett."

  He gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Spitfire takes the GRPs. But if you get yourself hurt, don't come—"

  "She's ready, Jett. I take it you're taking Diabolis yourself."

  "That's right. I'll tip RCE off about the CKs when I nail down their distribution centers."

  Mira made an offhand gesture. "Already got those, yo."

  Jett's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

  "Ain't been just cooling my feet."

  "It's cooling your heels. And good work with the surveillance—that saves me a lot of time."

  "It's cool. You just owe me, that's all." She spoiled her act of indifference by blushing a little.

  Jett gave her a suspicious look. "Yeah, okay. Look—I have to head back home. It's been a long night." He pushed himself up, wincing.

  Qhawa laid a hand on his arm. "I told you that leg sleeve has to stay on
overnight. Might as well use one of the spare rooms and get some actual rest."

  He stared at her and Mira as if expecting a trap. "Um … okay. Guess some shut-eye won't hurt."

  "Good. It's settled then. Come on, I'll show you the room."

  Jett followed her slowly. She suspected he was in more pain than he let on, but he'd never admit it to her. She shook her head at his stubbornness.

  "Have you been eating the food I packed for you?"

  "When I get the chance. It's good, by the way. Thanks."

  "You're welcome."

  He turned around, looking her in the eye. "Can I ask you a question?"

  "You just did."

  "Cute. But seriously."

  "Ask away."

  "Are you doing this because you care about me, or do you just automatically take care of Vigil because you can't help yourself?"

  "Does it matter?"

  He frowned in thought. "I guess not."

  "You think too much, Jett. Just accept the care and be content."

  "Okay, fine. But you're going to watch Mira's back, aren't you? I'll never forgive myself if she—"

  "She'll be fine, Jett. But just to ease your mind, yes—I'll be watching her back. For now, you need to worry about getting some rest." She gestured to a door in the hallway. "Your room. It has a connecting bathroom."

  He lingered for a moment, brows furrowed in deep thought. "How did he do it?"

  "Who?"

  "Wayne. Your mentor, the original Vigil. How did he do this without killing anyone?"

  "Who says he didn't?"

  He lifted his gaze, eyes strained with worry and fatigue. It was a look she knew well, one she'd seen on Wayne's face night after night. The martyr's stare, she called it. Leaning against the doorframe, she chose her words carefully.

  "There were deaths. You can't expect to go into combat night after night without casualties. Escalation breeds more escalation until death is unavoidable at times. You haven't chosen to fill the boots of some noble hero, Jett. Just a man who tried to make his city safe through violent means. It's small wonder that there weren't more deaths. So many times, it came close. So very close."

  "I never heard of any in the holo-records. It was always said that Vigil had a code about killing."

  "He did. No killing unless there was no other choice. When other lives were at risk, and there was no other way to control the situation. It happened more times than most would suspect."

  "But not to Mortis. Not his archenemy. Why?"

  "Mortis and Vigil were two sides of a coin. I think Wayne feared if he went down that road, he'd never come back."

  He contemplated for a moment, staring into the depths of whatever fed his urges. She felt a stab of empathy, knowing that there was nothing she could say to make him reconsider his path. The role fitted him like the armor he wore, as if he was born to play the part. And pay the cost when the time came. That was what hurt her the most—the knowledge that his suffering had only begun.

  He rubbed a hand across his shaved head. "Tired. I need to rest, think things over. Just need some sleep."

  Nodding, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then get some sleep. Do you need me to give you a sponge bath, or will you take care of it yourself?"

  Confusion flashed across his face. "Take care of what?"

  "Bathing yourself, Jett. Make sure to get it done." She wrinkled her nose. "You stink."

  Ⓥ

  Ronnie studied footage of the remains of a half-collapsed building. "Why do explosions always follow this guy around?"

  Isaac swiveled in his office chair, metallic skin gleaming from the rising sun that blazed through the skyline outside the office window. "Probably because people are always shooting at him."

  "Thanks. It was a rhetorical question." She pursed her lips, still looking at the screen. "Nearby drones and cameras were disrupted once again. Did we get any reliable eyewitness accounts?"

  "Nothing that sticks. Forensics indicate a purposeful attack on that particular building. Two Blood Boyz are dead, killed either by the first explosion or a secondary missile strike. Three others were found unconscious in the rubble. They're not talking, except to spout off streetspeak and threats to Vigil. Sounds like they were part of a team sent to ambush him. Obviously, it didn't work."

  "So, they set a trap and sprung it. What was the bait?"

  "Not sure yet. They're waiting for their System-Assigned Unilateral Lawyer to make a deal, so like I said—they're not spilling much."

  "Yeah, SAUL gets them back on the streets in a few months nine times outta ten. Gotta love those odds if you're a lowlife." Ronnie glanced at the holoband around her wrist when it buzzed from an incoming call. "Hang on, someone's on the line. Restricted number."

  "Probably calling about your aerodyne's extended warranty."

  She tapped the datcom in her ear. "Captain Banks."

  A familiar mechanical voice spoke. "I'm sending you some information you might find useful."

  "And why would I be interested in vigilante-sponsored information?" She gestured to Isaac, who scooted his chair over to the console to run a tracking program.

  "I noticed you made good use of the information I gave you last time," Vigil said.

  "That was last time. I thought it was a one-night stand, not a relationship."

  "Relationships involve trust. Are you trying to trace this call, Captain?"

  She hesitated. "Why would you—"

  "Don't bother. I just sent the files. Use them or lose them; it's your call."

  "Wait—how did you get my number?"

  "Goodbye, Captain Banks."

  The call disconnected. She glanced at Isaac, who shook his head. "Signal bounced all around the city. Too short of a call to trace."

  "Yeah, too bad our tech is two-gens behind. Well, might as well see what we've got."

  She opened the files on her holographic screen and flicked them over to the wall console. "Let's see … reconnaissance footage of several different inconspicuous warehouses. Where is this?"

  Isaac zoomed in on a few images. "Kings."

  "CK territory, then. Any of these buildings on our target list?"

  "Nope."

  "Well, according to Vigil's info, they're all distribution centers for Amnesia. And they're all supposed to be receiving payloads today."

  "So, why send it to us when he can just get there ahead of time like the last bust?"

  "Don't know, don't care." She stood and picked her handgun off the desk. "But I'm tired of staring at screens. I'll put out the call and get some squads ready. Wanna help ruin someone's day?"

  "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

  Ⓥ

  Spitfire sped down the street on Backburn, hurtling past blurred buildings and neon streaks of the Brickland industrial district. In a few seconds, she'd be on Grim Reaper Posse turf. Her objective point blinked on the windshield monitor in pulsing red.

  "Approaching the target."

  Viper's voice buzzed over the com. "Snipers are down. You're in the clear."

  Grinning, she whirred around the corner, stirring up dust and hot wind in her wake. Motion on both sides—lookouts caught off guard. Shouts followed her along with a few errant gunshots. She was too fast, practically gone before they reacted.

  Flying toward the warehouse, she ignored the reinforced door and hit the thrusters, squeezing the handlebar triggers. Backburn sailed up, twin guns spitting plasma-heated rounds from the headlight mounts. The security windows exploded inward in a shower of glittering shards, allowing her bike to punch through and into the storeroom where crates of product were stacked twelve feet high, row after row.

  Grim Reaper Posse soldiers scrambled like angry ants, picking up weapons and seeking defensive positions. Sadistically leaning into a turn, she spun Backburn in a complete circle, firing flashbang rounds from the sentry gun that popped up from the rear of the bike. Anyone not seeking cover was struck by a projectile that exploded on impact, disorienting the senses with
a blinding flash and a thunderclap of ear-splitting decibels. The gunmen screamed in pain as they were hit, dropping their weapons and toppling to the floor, completely disoriented.

  The smart ones who ducked for cover returned fire, shouting to one another over the thundering sounds of gunshots and flashbangs. Hazy smoke clouded the air, reducing visibility. Spitfire used the distraction to leap off the bike, leaving it in threat detecting auto-mode as she slid across the floor with a boom-gun cradled in her arms. From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of red-and-black leaping across the tops of the stacked crates—Viper joining the party. The alarmed shouts of the soldiers only verified it as they were flanked and attacked from their blindside.

  Propping the boom-gun on her shoulder, Spitfire fired sticky explosives from the spinning chambers, spacing her shots evenly, so she covered the entire packing area. Never slowing, she tapped her holoband, calling Backburn back to her. It was nearly there when a figure jumped from between the stacks, slamming a giant metal fist into the hover-bike. Reinforced alloy buckled, sparks exploded, and the bike flew across the storeroom until it struck the wall with a loud crunching sound.

  Manic Pixie Girl turned to Spitfire and squinted. "You again. This time I'm gonna tear your pretty little head off and use it for a bowling ball!"

  Tossing the empty boom-gun, Spitfire twisted her wrist. The stun baton popped from its holding and slapped into her hand. She smirked, dropping into a crouch. "Go for it."

  Screaming, Manic Pixie Girl charged, using her arms to propel her forward in simian fashion. This time Spitfire was prepared, easily leaping over the mech-propelled punch that came her way. Thrown off balance, Manic Pixie Girl stumbled, squeaking in outrage. Spitfire slapped her backside with the baton, delivering an electric-charged crackle.

  Manic Pixie Girl yelped, scrambling to turn back around. Spitfire circled with her, grinning. "Got anything else? Big arms boring me."

  Manic Pixie's face distorted in girlish outrage. "You wanna play rough? Okay."

  Raising both enhanced arms, she slammed her enormous fists into the concrete, splitting it apart in a cratering circle. Spitfire lost her footing as the ground buckled under her feet. With a cry of triumph, Manic Pixie Girl ratcheted her arms. Twin gatlings popped out of their housings on either side, whirring as they prepared to fire.