She leaped off a wall, twirling a baton that struck a nun's head in an explosion of sparks and biomechanical parts. "Talk about gratitude. Total lack of."
He freed himself while she distracted the nuns. Picking up his handgun, he switched it to ion rounds and opened fire, disrupting their systems with every shot. The room flickered in electric hues in the short battle that followed. The robotic nuns fell quickly, bodies crashing to the floor in convulsing heaps, arc flashes sizzling from their synthetic wounds.
Vigil rose from one knee, glancing over at Spitfire. "Nice work, partner."
She tilted her head back, smirking. "Oh, now we're partners?"
"Well, I can't seem to get rid of you, can I?"
"Admit it: you needed my help, big shot."
"No comment. Did you spot Goodman on your way down?"
"Who?"
"Never mind." Vigil glanced at the damage. "I'm sure all the noise didn't go unnoticed. Let's get out of here before the RCE shows up. I'll be back for the bishop later. I'm pretty sure he won't get too far."
Chapter 12: Hypothesis
Ronnie Banks sighed as she exited from her RCE aerodyne into the sweltering heat. The church grounds were already swarmed with white forensics androids, hovering orbot recorders, black-and-white RCE vehicles with red and blue lights flashing. Yellow hologram barricades beamed from crime scene posts, set to alarm if any unauthorized person entered the area. Her ID flashed automatically when she walked through the digital tape.
She glanced at Isaac, who followed on her heels like a chrome-plated bodyguard. "So, who murders a priest?"
"A bishop, actually. And in answer: I have no idea. Wish I could say it surprised me. Wish anything could surprise me in this city."
"You and me both, partner."
They entered the crossing, a massive room with soaring pillars and architecture designed for reverence and awe. But there was nothing reverent about the body that hung from the ceiling from a hook implanted into one of the great stone arches. His neck was broken, and his stomach slashed to assure disembowelment by the momentum of his fall. The gory innards piled on the flagstones next to the word Hypocrite, and a cross symbol scrawled in the blood.
Ronnie swallowed hard. "Not exactly a subtle message."
"Definitely not." Isaac's eyes glimmered as he recorded the gruesome scene. "Looks like our religious vigilante is claiming responsibility."
"Heretic."
"Correct. A name that indicates he's not exactly in line with the dogma of the church."
She glanced up at the slaughtered corpse and repressed a shudder. "Yeah, violently not."
Sergeant Mack turned when she approached, bluff face impassive as if it was just another day on the job. He carefully avoided looking at Isaac when he gave her a respectful nod. "Captain."
"Mack. Looks like we have a signature, but please tell me we have some solid evidence to go with it."
He nodded. "A couple of priests and a handful of parishioners saw the whole thing. This Heretic guy gave a mini-sermon while butchering and hanging the bishop. Went on about hypocrisy, greed, and …" he glanced at his notes on his holoband. "Carnal malefactors. That's not all." He handed her a thin blood-spattered tablet in an evidence bag.
She raised an eyebrow. "This better be a confession."
"It's worse: a list of names. All young boys, all with connections to the bishop. Along with some audio and visual clips. It's … graphic."
She groaned. "Let me guess: the bishop's robes weren't exactly whitewashed."
"If the data is true, he's been abusing boys for years with impunity. Looks like the Heretic got wind of it and took action."
Ronnie handed the evidence bag to Isaac. "It's suddenly a lot harder to feel any pity for the guy. Cut him down and finish the scene, Mack. No need stretching this out any longer than we need to."
"Press is all over this, Captain. It's gonna be fireworks for sure."
"Let me worry about the press."
"What about the Heretic?"
She sighed. "I'm posting a warrant out for his arrest. Trespassing, assault, and first-degree murder for a start. I don't care what the bishop did; we don't condone executions."
Mack frowned when he looked up at the dangling corpse. "Not like the creep didn't have it coming."
"A lot of people have it coming, Sergeant. It's just not our call to be judge, jury, and executioner. We have to be better than that."
He nodded. "Like you said, Captain." Motioning to his officers, he shouted orders.
Ronnie took a last look at the scene, feeling sick to her stomach. "What's the difference between a vigilante and a serial killer, Isaac?"
He considered for a moment. "Motives?"
"That was a rhetorical question, but thanks. I don't think that will keep the Commissioner off my back, though."
"Miller is still on your case? I haven't heard much about him since his heart attack."
"He's back to full health and his old tricks, I'm sure. If he's quiet, it's only because he's waiting for a chance to pounce. Things are getting out of hand between the vigilantes, gang tensions, heat, and whatever's happening behind the scenes. I just don't want to get sniped by Miller when I'm doing my juggling act."
Isaac glanced over her shoulder. "Well, just because things are bad doesn't mean they can't get any worse."
Sergeant Brooks made her way across the floor, exoskeleton armor gleaming over her Enforcer jumpsuit. She removed her helmet, revealing sweat-drenched blond hair shaved close everywhere but the top crest she swept sideways, so it hung over one eye. She snapped a salute to Ronnie.
"Captain. We found something in the basement that you need to see."
Ronnie glanced in the rear of the crossing, where the open elevator doors waited like a portal to some dark dimension.
"Can't wait."
Ⓥ
Sentry sat in the shade on a stack of old crates with her back against the dilapidated wall of the neighborhood corner store. Nondescript in drab colors, a worn t-shirt, rips and tears in her faded leggings. Chilled out with her baseball cap and holovisor covering most of her face and a can of Red Fool energy drink in her hand. The other hand propped up her chin as she pretended to be absorbed in whatever stupid game or program kids played on their VR screens. No one looking would know that her holovisor was a self-constructed display panel that could remotely link to any camera in the vicinity. Her goggle monitor was broken into several screens displaying feed from the entire city block, zeroing in on persons of interest.
A buzzer chimed on her holoband. She patched a link to the corner store's phone and dialed the RCE using an audio scrambler to disguise her voice. "Hello? Yeah, there's gangs fighting over here. They're gonna kill somebody if you don't stop 'em."
Ending the call, she watched as Fox approached a group of Crimson Kings posted up around the corner, conspicuous as ever as they practically shouted their occupation as drug dealers. Fox wore the baggy red and blacks, posing as one of the CKs. Her job was simple: alert the CKs to a group of Grim Reaper Posse members intruding on their turf around the other side of the block. It didn't matter that the CKs didn't know Fox. They immediately took the bait, leaping up and racing to meet the GRPs. Fox immediately turned and went the opposite direction, removed her CK jacket, and reversed it. Ripping her tearaway pants off, she tossed them in the trash and sidled away in her schoolgirl plaid skirt, sliding a fox-shaped holovisor over her face. Auto-dye changed her hair color to red from black at the tap of her holoband.
Sentry scanned the block, watching the collision course with the Grim Reaper Posse and the Crimson Kings running to meet them. She glanced at another section of her monitor, where a hovering bus glided to the curb to unload commuters getting off from work. It was five minutes earlier than usual, something Sentry didn't count on. Tapping rapidly on her cy-gear glove, she managed to jam the doors before anyone could exit.
"Hound, we have a situation. Need you to run interference."
Face c
overed by a dog-faced mask, he raced across the nearby rooftops. "On my way."
The GRPs were right alongside the bus, swaggering in their skull-and-bones street gear, faces masked or hooded, laughing too loudly as they shoved one another and slammed fruit-flavored liquor chogs. They couldn't see the crew of Crimson Kings running full speed in their direction around the corner. The impatient commuters didn't pay attention either as they shouted at the driver, who engaged manual operation so the doors could open.
The first few riders stepped out directly into the line of fire.
The Crimson Kings rounded the corner, pointing fingers and shouting, hands on knives and club weapons. The GRPs skidded to a startled halt, fight or flight adrenaline pumping. One of them pulled a pistol, yelling at the gathering crowd of CKs that closed in, reaching for their firearms. The commuters in the middle screamed and ducked for cover.
A smoke bomb fell from the rooftops, followed by a stun grenade.
Billowing smoke exploded, a flash of light blinded, and an ear-splitting bang disoriented the gang members, leaving them temporarily impaired. While they staggered and stumbled, Hound leaped down and herded the frightened commuters across the street as the bus took off at full speed. With the travelers safe, Hound quickly fled the scene, leaping up the nearest fire escape to the rooftops.
Three RCE squad cars converged by street and air, zeroing in on the confused bangers. While they shouted and made arrests, Sentry shut her equipment down and walked through the gathered crowd of onlookers, inconspicuous as ever as she headed away from the scene with a tiny smile on her face.
Ⓥ
"We're missing something."
Ronnie gnawed her bottom lip, staring at the digital board projected on the wall of her near-empty office. Surveillance photos and video feed displayed banger activity, Haze parlors, Helmer sightings, suspected vigilantes, drug trafficking routes, homicide victims, an executed priest, grainy feed of Vigil.
And what they found under the church.
Isaac glanced over from where he stood in the corner. "Probably some teamwork."
"Do I detect some sarcasm?"
"C'mon, Ronnie. No man—or woman is an island. You need to open things up and bring some people into your circle."
"I don't have a circle."
"That's kinda the point."
"I have my partner; that's the point."
"That worked when you were a detective. You're a captain now. You have to manage people and personalities. It's a lot harder to do at arm's length."
"I'll manage."
"You'll fail."
She glared at him. "Why are you doing this? We've been doing just fine all this time. You getting tired of being around me—is that it?"
He gazed back impassively. "Of you? No. But I am tired, Ronnie. I'm drifting away from the things that make me human, and soon I won't be able to even care. The only reason I haven't pulled the plug is because I don't want you to be left alone."
She swallowed, staring at him. For the first time, she didn't see her partner. She saw an android, a facsimile of a human being looking at her with electronic eyes, skin glinting in the light. A sad smile tugged at the corner of his silicone lips.
"I know it's a bad time to dump this on you, Ronnie. I'm sorry."
"Wait—how long have you been feeling like this?"
He sighed. "A while now. I haven't slept since the accident. I don't think it's possible in this … form. My brain remains active even in a resting state, and if I do dream, it's of being myself. Of being human again."
"You never stopped being human."
He looked at his large, mechanical hands. "Only I did. I'm more a machine than a man. A vegetable in a medical pod that somehow can remotely link with a robot body. They say I'm a miracle because I was able to do what thousands of others failed to do."
"You're able to have a life, Isaac. You beat the odds."
"You can't cheat death, Ronnie. I barely feel anything anymore. Scrolling feeds of data are slowly replacing my thought processes. I'm becoming a machine, not the other way around. The only reason it hasn't happened sooner is that you've been my anchor. But it's only a matter of time before I'm just a program disguised as your old partner, providing automated responses in lieu of real conversation."
"You can't let that happen, Isaac. You have to fight it. You have to hold on to your humanity."
"No." His eyes glimmered neon blue under his brows. "You have to hold on to yours."
She took an involuntary step back. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I thought I was the loneliest person in the world. But then I look at you and realize I'm not."
"Stop it. You're not being fair."
"I get it. You grew up an orphan in the system, never adopted. Feeling unwanted, blaming yourself. Learning to depend on no one, never trusting anyone. Making it in the force but not making any friends along the way. Several of your partners were killed, the last one critically wounded working with you, and you blame yourself again. But you have to quit thinking you're responsible for the bad stuff that happened to you, and yes— what happened to me. It was out of your control, Ronnie. Most things are."
Tears spilled from her lashes and slid down her cheeks. "No. It was my investigation. I goaded you, pushed you to into it."
"It was my decision, not yours."
"It was supposed to happen to me. Not you. Me. They knocked me into oncoming traffic. You didn't have to jump in after me."
"It was a setup. Blame the people who sprang the trap. I do."
"People we never busted. They got away clean. What did we get? Reassigned. The Commissioner wanted nothing to do with the investigation. Swept it under the rug. I should have quit the force right then and there."
"Quitting isn't in you, Captain Banks. Not when it comes to being the best cop on the force. I just want to make sure you don't quit being human."
"That's not possible even if I wanted it to be."
"It is possible. All you have to do is stop feeling. Life isn't data streams or bagging bad guys. That's just work. Life is feeling. It's pain and pleasure and little moments that can't be measured. It's in the taste of a good meal and the touch of someone that cares. The sound of a child laughing, the feel of a cool breeze when it's scorching outside, or the smell of fresh rain in the grass. Those are things I barely recall now. They fade like dreams, leaving me with just echoes, fading shadows of something real. But that shouldn't happen to you, Ronnie. Not you."
She didn't know she was crying until he put his massive arms lightly around her. She sobbed into his chest, ashamed of her tears but unable to stop. "I can't do this without you, Isaac. I wouldn't even know where to start."
He gently patted her back. "You start like anyone else. One step at a time, Ronnie. That's all. One step at a time. I just want you to smile again. Laugh at something for once. When was the last time you laughed?"
She scrubbed a hand across her face. "I laugh all the time when I'm with Jett."
When Isaac didn't respond, she looked up. "What?"
"Yeah … about that."
"About what?"
"Jett."
"What about him?"
He hesitated again. "You're not going to like it."
"Please don't tell me he's married. Or a criminal mastermind. That's the last thing I need today."
"Um…"
"Just spit it out, Isaac."
"It's just a theory right now."
Pulling back, she glared up at him. "Don't make me punch you."
"You'd break your fist."
"Not the point."
"Fine. Like I said, it's a working theory right now. But if I'm right, then Jett is Vigil."
"What?"
Ⓥ
Jett opened the door before she had time to think. Her finger had hovered over his doorbell as she tried to collect her thoughts. It had all been so clear, but that was in the safety of her aerodyne, hurtling across the cityscape at over one hundred miles per hour.
Now that she reached her destination, she froze like a thief under the sudden glare of police lights.
Maybe it was the expression on Jett's face: bone-weary as if standing took all of his strength. His eyes were guarded, as if wary of what she might say. As if he expected her to unload all the accusations she had prepared on the way over. Isaac had laid out a solid case, tying in all the clues she had been ignoring, starting with the possibility that Wayne Thomas had been the original Vigil and enlisted Jett before he died. Then there was the fact that Jett physically matched Vigil's height and build, something that she should have noticed when she encountered Vigil in the alley.
Or maybe I did and just didn't want to make the connection.
Jett raised an expectant eyebrow. "Didn't expect to see you here, Ronnie."
And that was the problem. She had rushed over, completely unprepared and highly emotional. She half-expected him to not even be at his shipping container apartment. In the thick of the Warrens, it blended in with thousands of similar structures, stacked to form a latticework of buildings interconnected by stairwells and walkways of scaffolding. The entire area trapped heat that simmered across rooftops and radiated from the metal buildings so strongly that the air rippled around her. The clamor of old air conditioner units and swamp coolers threatened to drown out anything she said, even if she found the words.
Which she didn't.
"I … was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd stop by. About time I saw where you stay, after all."
Are you Vigil?
Three little words. That's all she had to say. It's what she planned to blurt out when she flew over. She had rehearsed it repeatedly, intending not to let him talk until she got the words out. Isaac's hypothesis made complete sense: Jett was a combat veteran with the skills to battle metahumans in the Imperial War. He had the strength, skill, and motivation to honor the sacrifice of the man who saved his life. He was a man who lost everything, who had no real reason for existence until fate arranged what he needed the most: a mission. A reason to keep going. The former soldier found his war: against the syndicates, against Diabolis, and eventually against the Denizens of Haven Core. It was so obvious in retrospect. He basically told her at the restaurant…
Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2) Page 18