"Shield," Spitfire said, throwing her arm up protectively. An omni-shield projected from her holoband and expanded, forming a large protective circle just as the guns opened fire. The sheer force of the impacts nearly knocked her backward, but gritting her teeth, she braced her legs and leaned forward as the rounds ricocheted off of the shield, creating ripples across its luminous surface. Hot ozone stung her nostrils, and her ears rang from the loud pinging sounds of the close-quarters gunfire.
"Backburn: make it rain."
The bike rattled as it fired chaff missiles from its side fairing. Only a few still worked, but it was enough. The bombs exploded right above Manic Pixie Girl, dispersing electromagnetic particles over the immediate area. She wailed as her mech controls misfired, causing her oversized exoskeleton arms to jerk uncontrollably, turret guns whirring to a stop.
Spitfire dropped her shield and charged.
Targeting Manic Pixie Girl's mech arms, she fired slave drives from her wrist rockets. As they worked to override the systems, Spitfire pressed her attack, pushing Manic Pixie Girl back with a nonstop flurry of driving kicks and strikes with her stun baton. Manic Pixie Girl stumbled, cursing as she tried to manipulate her exoskeleton again. She glared at Spitfire, tears streaming down her cheeks and marring her makeup.
"No … wait. This isn't fair. You're not fighting fair!"
Spitfire paused when her holoband dinged, alerting her to the slave drive completion. "Me? All you gotta do is one thing."
"Yeah? Like what?"
"Stop hitting yourself." Spitfire assumed control of Manic Pixie Girl's arms through her holoband and made a fist-bumping gesture, causing the mech arms to do the same—slamming together with such force that the fists shattered along with much of the forearms.
Manic Pixie Girl stared at the damage in shock. "My arms …"
"Nothing wrong with giving yourself a hand," Spitfire said with a grin.
Manic Pixie Girl slapped a hand against her harness buckle, disengaging the exoskeleton gear. Without it, she was just a scrawny girl in punk makeup, almost pathetic if it weren't for the vicious glare on her face. She thrust an angry finger at Spitfire.
"You just wait till next time. I'm gonna get better gear, and then I'll—"
"Go to sleep," Spitfire said, firing a knockout dart into Manic Pixie Girl's neck.
"Ow! Aw, man…" Her eyes rolled back, and she slumped to the floor.
"Are you finished playing around?" Viper asked.
Spitfire turned around. Viper stood in the middle of a dozen unconscious bodies, fit and trim in her form-fitting hooded outfit, mesh armor gleaming like snakeskin. A sleek helmet with a mirror-coated visor completely masked her features.
Spitfire glanced down at Manic Pixie Girl. "All finished."
"Good. Fire the explosives before reinforcements arrive."
Spitfire nodded. With a tap of her holoband controls, the sticky bombs detonated, dispersing magnesium powder and flame that quickly spread across the crates and set the entire stock of Amnesia on fire. Thick smoke quickly filled the room, and she had to retreat from the brunt of the searing heat. Stooping down, she hooked her arms under Manic Pixie Girl's armpits and dragged her safely away.
"What about the others?"
Viper didn't spare a glance to the fallen bangers. "I hacked the system and set a one-minute delay on the fire suppression system. The drugs will be ruined by the time they activate. Should spare the bangers from being roasted, though. Let's go. The rest is up to Vigil."
Chapter 10: Flames
Returning to the Underbelly was like diving into dark, scummy waters and wallowing in the filth.
Vigil made his way through an entranceway crowded with derelicts, outcasts scorned by society, addicts completely devoured by their compulsion, staring blindly and crying out with agonized shrieks as if tortured with rusty knives. Dressed in filthy rags, they raised emaciated arms and reached out, begging in guttural voices for something, anything to relieve their pain.
Vigil walked through their midst, dark and ominous, staring them down with his visor pulsing with red light as if in warning. Cowering away, they let him pass.
Further down, thick crowds gathered in the graffiti-covered stations, waiting for the rattling, battered hover-trams to take them to other parts of the city. Nearly everyone had their faces obscured by masks, goggles, helmets, or deep hoods, having long adapted to subterfuge to avoid surveillance. With his cape reworked to look like a hooded coat, Vigil moved freely without attracting attention. He passed the stations, going deeper into the tunnels. Dust-covered pillars formed a dark, concrete forest where the straight course was lost. Winding passageways led to massive chambers, which led to more dimly lit subways.
Sticking to the shadows, he drifted like a phantom. There were full-blown secret raves sponsored by the Krazy Eights—crowds a thousand strong, live music that throbbed so loudly that powder fell from the rooftop like snow. Drugs were passed out like candy on Halloween: nirvanic, mack, Amnesia, razzi, effenyu. Laser lights flashed, glinting on bionic limbs, sweat-slicked skin, and metallic headgear, black lights transformed colors into hallucinogenic inversions. In an adjoining chamber, crowds roared as combatants brawled in makeshift rings, spattering blood on the cheering spectators while fighting to submission or death.
Other renovated substations were transformed into Haze parlors—row after row of Immersion chairs and Deep Sleep pods where people surrendered their consciousnesses to enter the digital world to submerge into other people's memories or experience adventures limited only by their imaginations.
He passed the Free Market, the colossal lobby where everything was bought and sold, from toys and gifts to illegal weapons. Endless booths and tables were set up with wares and prices displayed. Expensive items like synoids and androids were available for purchase, as well as prototype tech and vehicles. Thousands of people crammed in the narrow lanes, shouting and haggling with sellers. Armed androids and Grim Reaper Posse soldiers roamed the vicinity, eyes sharp out for trouble that would be quickly and brutally stamped out.
Vigil kept moving, pressing on into the deeper tunnels.
Vegetation threaded with walls, water dripped from leaking pipes. Trash was discarded everywhere, rotting away and filled with maggots. People huddled around trash can fires or slept in shallow tubes. They stared at Vigil without curiosity, eyes sunken, skin sickly, limbs weak and frail. He kept going, scanner picking out the ultraviolet markings left by Diabolis crews: a heart impaled by a stake. He knew he was getting close when he spotted cameras attached to the tunnel walls. The ECMs that circled around him kept him undetectable, but he activated the cloaking function on his cape anyway. There were bound to be lookouts posted as well, and he didn't want to spoil the element of surprise.
KO darts took out the first pair, who never saw him coming. A third was more alert, squinting at Vigil's indistinct movements. A charged punch to the face dropped him before he could sound the alarm. Vigil quickened his pace, passing a pair of sentry guns that didn't detect him as he passed underneath and exited the tunnel to the substation.
The labs were located in clean mobile office trailers, pristine against the murky surroundings. A sharp, acrid scent filled the air as workers in white jumpsuits and gas masks went from one trailer to another, carrying fluid-filled glass beakers, stacking crates, and moving plastic bins of sloshing liquid and steaming dry ice. They looked up in alarm when alarms blared, and warning lights flashed. Vigil figured he tripped some hidden sensory alarms that detected unauthorized movement.
Doesn't matter. It's too late to stop me now.
When a dozen guards in tactical gear ran from their posts with weapons raised, Vigil threw back his cloaking cape and unslung the Charon rifle from his shoulder as he seemingly materialized from thin air. Taking advantage of the guards' initial surprise, he hefted the gun and opened fire.
Stun darts incapacitated their targets quickly as he strafed to the side to avoid return fire. Some of their ro
unds hit anyway, slamming against his armor like heavy punches. Grunting, he lifted an arm and dispersed quick-spreading smoke capsules, switching to infrared to target before they could adjust. Lab workers ran for the exits as he gunned down the remaining guards, knocking them on their backs with electric-discharging rounds. While they convulsed, he charged the breach-laser.
Aiming at the nearest trailer, he braced himself and fired. The thick laser sizzled when it discharged, punching a massive hole through the flimsy siding. Highly combustible materials exploded, destroying the rest of the trailer in a fiery flash of psychedelic colors. He ignored the searing heat, protected by his climate-controlled interior layer. Charging the breach-laser again, he turned to another trailer.
The rifle fell from his hands when the entranceway sentry guns opened fire from behind. Pain exploded across his back as he was bowled over from the force of the impact, rolling as the guns tracked his movements. The ground exploded into shards of shattered concrete and clouds of dust, and the roar of gunfire would have deafened him if his helmet receivers hadn't dampened the sound. He raised his hands protectively, allowing the intuitive smart tech to automatically activate omni-shields from his g-spans to repel the barrage
He gritted his teeth against the pain. "Auto-counter."
Tiny missiles popped from his gauntlets and streaked forward, striking each sentry gun in its control panel and detonating in a small blast of flame and sparks. The guns ceased firing and drooped downward, smoke wafting from the barrels.
Vigil pushed himself to his feet just in time to get shot point-blank in the side of the head.
The impact rocked his helmet like a heavy punch to the face, distorting his vision. He saw a blur of blue combat armor and heard a sinister laugh as the figure flank him. He disengaged his cape and flung it backward, trying to regain his balance. His attacker staggered back, temporarily entangled. Vigil formed a fist and fired a repulsor blast, knocking his assailant head over heels. Landing in a crouch, she snatched the cape from her face, revealing androgynous features and a fierce grin. Her dark hair was shaved at the sides with a sweeping crest that hung over her brow. Vigil recognized her from surveillance footage.
Mister Sister.
Dark blue segmented armor covered her athletic physique like a lobster carapace, with a wicked-looking cannon on one arm. Aiming it at him, she fired.
His omni-shields activated as before, but they fractured when the blast struck, collapsing into electromagnetic sparks. The display inside his visor flickered, and his g-spans flashed, weapons inaccessible. The suit's systems tried to reboot, stripping him of most weapons and defensive options.
Mister Sister leaped to her feet. "Just another bum in a cyber-suit outdone by an ion blast. Been there, done that. You're nothing without your fancy tech."
Under his helmet, Vigil grinned. "Famous last words."
He sprang, running directly at Mister Sister, who raised her arm for another shot. The cannon whined as it charged, but Vigil was already there, slapping a burner bomb on the weapon as he brushed her arm aside and punched her in the face. Her head snapped backward, the burner exploded and burned a hole through the cannon, spewing smoke and the scent of scorched metal in the air. He pressed the attack: elbow to her sternum, two body shots, collar grab and pull, knee to the gut. When she doubled over, he finished with an elbow drop to the back of the head, knocking her to the shattered floor.
"Should've armored your face," he said.
She answered by flipping around and slamming a boot into his crotch with enough force that he felt the stomach-curdling pain despite the armor. He groaned, stumbling backward while she flipped to her feet, wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.
"That the best you got?"
Grinning through red-stained teeth, she snatched a saber from the sheath on her leg. With a twist of the thumb-ring, the edge hummed with a laser charge that flashed crimson with every movement. Yelling, she hacked and slashed at him. Using the armored backs of his g-spans, he deflected the attacks, sparks showering with every clash.
As they danced to the rhythm of violence, the familiarity of the movements took his mind across ages, back to the times when he sparred under the tutelage of his brother Marcus, the best hand-to-hand fighter he'd ever known. Mister Sister was good, but she was nothing compared to the speed and conditioning of his relentless trainer. It was a simple matter of muscle memory to parry and counterattack.
Slipping past her savage blade thrust, he seized her wrist and twisted, forcing her to drop the weapon. Pivoting, he slammed an armored elbow into her face, ending the fight when her legs buckled and she slumped to the floor, out cold.
Walking over to where he dropped the Charon rifle, he picked it up, charged the breach-laser, and leveled the weapon at another trailer.
"Don't bother."
Mister Sister sat up, dizzily shaking her head. Blood smeared across her face from her busted nose, but other marks were visible—segmented lines alongside her cheekbones down to her mouth. Reaching up, she seized the skin of her jawline and peeled it off, revealing a jawbone coated with gunmetal alloy. Her grin was inhuman when she looked up.
"Nice moves. Too bad I'm not that easy to put down. My bones are galvanized with graphenite; they don't break too easily."
He pointed the rifle at her. "That's okay. I have something here that'll do the trick."
She scoffed. "I'm shaking in my boots. The word is out, Vigil—you're no killer. Not like the priest with the swords. And that means you have no leverage."
He pulled the trigger. Her head snapped back, blood misting the air.
Standing over her, he stared down the rifle sights. "How's that for leverage? I know a regular round won't penetrate graphenite, but the next one will be plasma. So, talk. Specifically, about what Janus is doing with all the data he's harvesting."
Wincing, she touched the hole in her forehead, smearing blood with her fingers. She stared at it with a dazed expression. "It's not data … it's energy."
"Energy?"
Her eyes refocused, narrowing into hateful slits. "Anything you want to know about Janus, you can ask him yourself. I'm not throwing my life away for you."
She tapped her holoband and rolled to the side. The rest of the trailers exploded in brilliant flashes of blistering flame. Nearly blinded, Vigil shut his eyes, dropping low as shadows were shoved back and heat roiled like liquid across the station. The whooshing sound of the initial blast was followed by a thunderous roar that rattled the ground. Tiles on the walls shattered from the force, scorched and blackened when they hit the ground. Flaming debris flew through the air like bullets from a firing squad.
When the smoke finally cleared and he looked up, Mister Sister was gone.
Ⓥ
The meetup was a private office on the upper level of a nightclub in the Breaks—Krazy Eights Territory. Agent Red walked in with a trio of Blood Boyz behind him. He didn't expect any trouble—the Krazy Eights considered themselves neutral and often hosted negotiations on their turf. But it was customary for Helmers to arrive with an entourage, and he didn't want to be the exception.
He winced, shifting under his blood-red suit. The enhancer skin underneath tended to his injuries, which were still half-healed from the skirmish with Vigil. At least he was able to walk away from that disaster. Two of his Blood Boyz weren't as fortunate.
They walked through a weapons scanner and into the office, where Eight Baller waited at the steel and glass conference table, black helmet polished and gleaming. He wore a black suit with a purple paisley vest and tie set, diamond cufflinks, and tie clip flashing in the light. He was alone, no entourage in sight. Maybe it was a show of power, or maybe he didn't feel the need with his soldiers all over the building.
The other Helmer was Shinigami, head of the Grim Reaper Posse. Her features were concealed by a white-and-black samurai helmet with a horned mask fashioned into a hideous, leering face with protruding fangs. Three Hellhounds stood behind her, s
till as statues in their black-and-white colors decorated with skulls, crossbones, and Japanese calligraphy. Their faces were concealed, and they could have been robots for all Agent Red knew. Normally, they were never without their customary laser katanas, but they were unarmed, as was the custom for neutral ground.
Shinigami raised her head, eyes glinting from the dark sockets of her face shield. "Agent Red. You're late. That offends me."
He slid into the seat opposite her, regretting that she couldn't see his smirk behind his tight-fitting blood-red death mask. "To the contrary, I'm right on time."
"Right on time is late in my book."
He leaned back, folding his arms. "Your book needs editing."
Eight Baller raised his hands in a forestalling gesture. "Let's not get off on the wrong foot, okay?"
"Tell Little Ms. Samurai to pull the wedgie out her ass crack, and we'll be fine."
Shinigami glanced at Eight Baller. "I told you this was a waste of time. His lack of professionalism and inability to control his people weakens all of us. Now he arrives late and speaks with rudeness. I should kill him and be done with it."
He barked a laugh, trying to appear nonchalant despite the murderous rage that caused his hands to visibly tremble. He clenched them into fists. "I'd like to see you try."
Even through the leering helm, her contempt was visible. "It can be arranged. Who would miss you? Your syndicate is the laughingstock of the city, good for nothing except distracting the police by being constantly arrested. Should I kill you right now, your mob of swaggering fools would only raise another idiot in your place. That is the only reason why you still have a life, Agent Red. Press me further, and even that will be taken from you."
His Blood Boyz bristled behind him. "Are we gonna just sit her and let her dog us like that?"
He stood, glaring at her. "No. We're leaving before we break the truce. See you in the streets, Shini."
She tilted her head. "No, you won't. You won't see anything, not even when your throat is slit in the dark by one of my Hellhounds. You'll never see me coming, and no one will mourn you when you bleed out in the street. Your entire syndicate will—"
Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2) Page 15