Neon Revenge

by Graeme J Greenan

  At the far corner, he was relieved to find the touch-screen, which gained entry to his panic-room, was still operational. He’d had the foresight to have it hooked up to an external power supply, just in case the need for its use surfaced – though in the back of his mind, he really didn’t think he would need it. The pad emitted a soft green LED, ready for his thumbprint.

  Satisfied he had a Plan B, he hurried into his bathroom and grabbed one of the towels from the rail. He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped the towel – though wet, was still warm – around his shoulder. He winced as a lance of pain shot down his arm. He gritted his teeth, eventually managing to fix it in place. Blood was already beginning to show through the white cotton.

  A wave of nausea swept over him. Unable to suppress the bile from climbing up his throat, he vomited. He quickly turned to face the toilet bowl, but it was in vain. The toilet seat had been left down. Yellow bile sloshed over the smooth surface and spattered onto the tiled floor. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  Not all of them were due to his retching.

  IV

  Lex stood in front of the large electrical panel – which powered the building – admiring her handiwork. The metal box was a charred ruin; the outer casing had bent out in great winged shards, exposing its innards. After the blast, the charred cables had crackled and sparked for a few seconds, before dying.

  I’m going to enjoy this.

  The standby generator box was in a similar state of oblivion. She’d noticed it as she was placing the explosive tape on the electrical box, which was a stroke of luck; functional practicality had clearly taken precedence over likelihoods of vengeful woman seeking blood when the engineers had installed the equipment.

  In the dark, she smiled grimly, as the automated sprinkler system came on. She removed her hood, letting the cool water wash over her head.

  Feeling refreshed, she turned and made her way back into the lobby, pulling her cowl back over her head.

  The dark wasn’t a problem for her as she splashed on the tiles. The patch she wore over her one remaining eye, switched to night-vision. The long hallway was now a collage of varying shades of green.

  She made a quick check of her portable cam, switching on her wrist-pad to make sure the angles were correct and made a dash for the stairwell.

  She pushed through the double-doors and stopped, surveying her surroundings. The sprinklers had only been on a few minutes, but already, the stairs looked as though a river had broken its banks on one of the upper landings; it trailed in small waterfalls off each step, finally disappearing down a strip of grating, a foot from the first step.

  She drew her pistol and crept to the centre of the stairwell. She looked up, ready to take a shot at the first hint of security personnel, or Trammel, himself. Sadly, there was no-one there.

  Did Trammel think he was so untouchable, he only needed two or three guards?

  The thought was both a relief and a concern.

  Easier to get to him. But why so few?

  Trammel knew who hunted him, of that she had no doubt. Which meant that either himself or his stooge, would have already called for reinforcements. It was more than likely it would be from within the Inner-Sanctum, rather than the police – though, the force had a few of their creatures secreted within their ranks. She knew that from experience.

  They only use their own when their secrets are at risk of being exposed. That’s how I lost you, my love. Whose beautiful face I’ll never see again.

  They will all answer for their sins. Even if it kills me.

  All the better.

  Then we’ll be together again, my darling.

  Satisfied the coast was clear, she ran up the stairs, gun raised, keeping to the outer wall, all the while attuning her senses in preparation for battle.

  When she reached the first floor. She edged closer to the glass pane on the door. Through the pane, she could see an array of potted plants in a row along the corridor, and expensive artwork lining the walls; most depicted images of great men leading the way or overcoming impossible odds. She surmised Trammel saw these heroes in himself.

  Fucking asshole.

  She slowly opened the door and took a peek. It looked empty. Her suspicions of Trammel being situated on one of the higher levels was beginning to feel more likely. She closed the door and turned back to the stairwell.

  Before she had placed a foot on the first step leading to the next floor, a crash sounded from the lobby, followed by raised voices.

  She rushed up to the half-landing and glanced down to the ground floor. Beams of torchlight flashed through the windowpane. She grinned.

  The cavalry’s here.

  V

  Jared trudged back through to his living room, the very epitome of misery, as he wiped the remains of vomit from his mouth with another of his towels. His legs felt wobbly from the dry-heaves, his stomach muscles were still contracting from his efforts to expel his stomach from his body.

  Marr had ended his call, the scribe tucked within the confines of his coat. Though Jared couldn’t see it, he knew the security guard looked at him with something resembling pity. It was at this moment he was glad the room was pitch black. The acrid stench of bile emanated off him like cologne, contaminating the room.

  “They’ve just arrived,” Marr announced, thankfully choosing not to comment on the smell that had just wafted into the room. “They’ll either pick her off down in the lobby…”

  “…Or chase her up here,” Jared finished.

  “Is the panic room operational, or has the power been cut to the entry-pad?” Marr asked.

  Not wanting to be standing out in the open, and at the mercy of that bitch, Jared turned and rushed back into his bedroom. He wiped his wet fingers on the towel draped over his shoulders to remove any dirt, vomit, or dried blood from them.

  He heard Marr enter the room as he placed his thumb over the screen. A strip of red light moved from one side of the screen to the other, quickly followed by a bleep of approval.

  The rectangular panel, built into the wall to the side of the entry-pad, moved back a few inches, then slid up to reveal a small room.

  Light bathed Jared and Marr. They both stepped into the panic-room, finding the lack of indoor rain a welcome relief. The room had a larder filled with enough food and water to last him at least six months – the thought of spending six months in this glorified cupboard didn’t sound all that appealing, but he supposed that was a damn-sight better than dead. It was also stocked with an array of wines and beers.

  Marr pushed past Jared to a safe fitted into the back wall. He pressed a few keys on the electronic pad, unlocking it. The door swung open automatically. Inside were a couple of handguns, a shotgun, and an array of nasty looking knives, all in their sheaths. Marr picked up one of the handguns and threw it to Jared.

  Jared dropped it, cursing as it clattered to the ground. He picked it up, feeling like a fucking idiot, the object foreign in his manicured hands. He glared at Marr. “And what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

  Marr smiled. “Just in case.”

  Jared raised his eyebrows. “I’m not going back out there with you.”

  Marr blinked, stashing the remaining handgun in his coat. “I know you’re not,” he said, as though it were obvious. He was enjoying this, Jared thought, he just knew it.

  He strapped the knives to his belt, looping the leather tags and clipping them in place. He picked up the shotgun. A small box of shells lay at the bottom of the safe. He picked it up and emptied the shells into a pocket. He threw the box aside.

  “So, why are you giving me this?” Jared asked, waving the gun.

  Marr walked past him, and back into his bedroom. He turned back. “Close the door. I’ll call when I’m done. This shouldn’t take too long,” he said, confidently. “It’ll be fine.”

  Without answering, Jared pressed a button on the wall, finding it difficult to believe the big man’s assurance the situation was under control. The d
oor began to slide down, locking him inside.

  He had a bad feeling about this.

  VI

  Lex had to think fast. Her wrist-pad sprang to life as the sensor on her portable cam picked up some new arrivals. And though she wasn’t worried – elated more than anything – the situation had become a little more complex. She could hear them; their voices growing louder as they drew closer to the stairwell door.

  It would be suicide to fight them on the stairwell. She needed to turn the situation to her advantage. She went over her options. She couldn’t go down, but neither could she go up until she’d dealt with the new arrivals.

  She slowly stepped back from the rail she’d been leaning on, and pushed through the doors which led to the first floor, deciding it was the best option available to her.

  A long corridor spanned from one side of the building to the other. Along its length were dozens of doors, presumably leading to offices usually manned by Trammel’s employees, during the daytime, before curfew.

  She heard a crash as the new arrivals burst into the stairwell, the noise echoing all the way up the multiple flights to the very top of the building; their radios crackled with barked orders and updates. They would sweep each floor until they found her.

  She had every intention of being found, but it would be on her terms.

  She pulled out the last of the explosive tape from her belt and strapped it to the door-frame. She armed the trigger on her wrist-pad, and ran to the end of the corridor, toward the front of the building.

  She tried the door and was thankful it had been left unlocked. She opened it ajar, turned back, and waited. From where she stood, flickers of torchlight shone through the windowpane on the stairwell door. She pulled out a flashbang from her belt and pulled the pin.

  This’ll draw the bastard’s attention.

  She threw the flashbang to the other end of the corridor. It bounced a couple of times, finally stopping just below the window.

  She entered the office so as not to be affected by its blast. It exploded with a crack. She heard the stairwell door burst open, followed by heavy footsteps and raised voices. She turned and made her way around several tables and chairs to the window.

  She slipped her fingers through the two brass rings, fixed onto the window, and pulled. It wouldn’t budge. It must have a lock situated somewhere on its frame, but she didn’t have time to look. Instead, she drew her knife, quickly glancing over her shoulder to see where the assault team were. They were still searching the area her flash-bang had exploded.

  She twisted the tip of her blade into the small gap she’d pushed it through and heard the satisfying sound of something snapping. The window frame suddenly eased. She slid it up and peered down to the street below.

  A white van sat outside the building, mounted on the kerb. Two men stood between it and the front door. They were gazing into the lobby. They look almost disappointed to be assigned sentry duties, instead of where the action was happening. Occasionally, one of them would relay something over their radio; she couldn’t make out what was said, but from his tone, he was far from happy.

  Let’s turn that frown upside down

  She looked from side to side, to see if there was anything that would aid her ascent to the next floor. A drain pipe ran down the building from the guttering on the roof, within touching distance of the window.

  Torchlight suddenly beamed into the room. Instinctively, she grabbed the pipe and threw herself out of the window. She almost lost her footing on the wet brickwork. Her boot scuffed noisily as she scrambled to gain some purchase.

  It drew the attention of the two guards below.

  Before they could cry out a warning, she unholstered her handgun and shot them both in the forehead. They dropped to the ground like puppets who’d just had their strings cut.

  Her attention was drawn back inside, as the door to the room she’d just vacated was kicked open. “This window’s open,” a voice called, as a beam of light shone through the window. “I’ll check it out, watch my six.”

  Lex rolled her eye at the ridiculous bravado and tapped the screen on her wrist-pad.

  An explosion boomed from within the building, followed by cries of pain, surprise, and anger. She felt vibrations through the drainpipe, as the stairwell door was blown off its hinges, reduced to a smoking pile of splinters.

  She began to climb.

  ~

  A muted rumble, followed by heavy vibrations, shook throughout the panic-room. What in god’s name were they doing out there, Jared thought? As much as it was the woman, it was still at least a dozen against one.

  He looked down at the gun. He hadn’t let it go since Marr left. If the situation showed itself, and he found himself standing in front of the woman, he had some serious doubts if he had the balls to fire – more likely he’d drop the fucking thing. He was a man of business, not a common soldier. Weren’t men in his position supposed to be the ones barking orders from a distance, instead of being on the front lines?

  He jumped, almost firing the gun in terror, as the call-screen – situated above the small desk in the corner of the room sprang into life. He shook his head, laughing grimly at himself, and got up. He picked the phone up and looked at the screen.

  It was Faulks.

  “Trammel?” Faulks’ dry tone asked from the other end of the line. He expected to be met with the weathered face of the Proxy, but it remained blank – the fucker must have left it off.

  “Who the fuck else is it going to be?” Jared replied, a little more tartly than he’d intended.

  Faulks paused a moment. Jared thought he could hear the older man sigh. “Well, it could’ve been the woman answering as she stood over your bullet-riddled corpse.”

  “Is that supposed to be fucking funny? It sounds like that witch is attempting to blow my fucking building up.” He rubbed his forehead with the barrel of the gun, then quickly lowered it as he remembered what he was holding. “Tell me you sent a doctor; it feels like a fair majority of my own blood is anywhere but in my fucking veins.”

  Faulks ignored his sullen tone. “He’s there. He should be on his way up as we speak.”

  “I’m fine by the way. Thanks for asking.”

  “I wasn’t. Though, there is one thing I’d like to know.” Faulks said.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Before you ran to your panic-room – pissing your pants like a little girl – did you check to see if you left anything incriminating that might lead back to us? Anything in your apartment that might give the woman access to the Inner-Sanctum?”

  Jared stood there with his mouth open. Did he? He quickly scanned his surroundings. He felt what little blood he had left in his face drain away, leaving him with an ill feeling in the pit of his stomach. “My scribe… it’s in the apartment.”

  VII

  Lex climbed the drainpipe as though it were on fire. The rain beat down on her as she ascended to the third floor, where the pipe disappeared into the wall. She grabbed onto the window frame to her left and craned her neck to see below her.

  Two figures emerged from the main entrance – presumably to see why their two comrades had suddenly dropped to the floor. It didn’t take them long to gather where their death had rained from. They looked up, immediately spotting her. They raised their weapons and fired.

  Bullets whipped past her head, some of them smashing the brickwork around her. She flinched as she was peppered with masonry. It wouldn’t be long before the men inside were alerted to her whereabouts.

  She tried to pull the window open, but it was locked. She cursed, drawing her handgun. She spun it around so she was holding the barrel, and drove it through the glass like a hammer. The pane splintered, but the glass remained intact. Several cracks snaked out from the impact point like thin tendrils.

  A fresh wave of bullets split the wall around her. She was a sitting duck; she was lucky the two idiots below were lousy shots.

  The firing ceased as they reloaded their we
apons. Using the momentary respite from their assault, she pulled her arm back and swung the butt of the gun against the glass. This time the pane shattered, sending a hail of broken shards down to her two admirers. They ran for cover, giving her enough time to drag her body through the empty frame.

  As she hauled herself inside, she felt her suit tear from some shards jutting out of the frame. She winced as it gouged her thigh. She felt a sudden warmth as blood coursed from the wound.

  She landed awkwardly; her head clattering off a nearby desk. She pushed it aside and ran for the door. She tried the handle, but it didn’t move an inch. She stepped back and fired a couple of rounds, destroying the lock.