Neon Revenge

by Graeme J Greenan

  She gasped as a fist pummelled her ribcage. She grunted, turning to face her new adversary. It was the leader of the unit; his sergeants' badge shined brightly in the afternoon sun. His eyes blazed with fury; his mouth an angry snarl as he swung the baton at her neck. She twisted around his attack, bringing her elbow around and cracking it against his thick helmet. He fell back and paused. He tapped his headwear and shook his head; his lips spread into a confident grin. She rolled her eyes. She knew the blow wouldn’t affect him physically. It was intended to drive him back and give her a little space to assess the best way to attack him. The idiot just didn’t see what was coming.

  They stood for a moment. Time ceased to exist as they both took in their opponent; gauging the others next move. The leader took a quick glance at his fallen compatriots, who were strewn across the alleyway – all unconscious. She smiled. Her flashbang had caused enough of a distraction for her to take out half the team before they’d realised what was happening.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” the sergeant said, his lips twisting into a snarl

  Lex arched an eyebrow. “And what would that be?” she asked, sounding bored.

  “I was going to bring you in.” He waved a hand to his incapacitated comrades. “I’ll tell the brass I had no choice… I had to kill you.”

  Lex chuckled. “Is that so?” she said, beginning to move around the sergeant like a cat who’d cornered a mouse. “Give it your best shot.”

  The sergeant roared, closing the short space between them in as close to a run as he could manage – garbed in that ridiculous armour. In his Kevlar-padded combat suit, it looked clumsy and slow. The armour the assault team were provided was good in a firefight. However, engaging in close-quarter combat was ill-advised. Especially pitted against someone as quick as Lex.

  She waited until he was almost upon her, then in one quick motion, she stepped forward to meet him, directing a chop to his exposed neck. He gave out a spluttering choke, his body tensing from the blow. She never gave him time to recover as she slipped her fingers between the small gap which separated the officer’s chin to the padded rest of his helmet and wrenched it free. She pushed him back with a well-directed kick to his abdomen and swung his helmet in a wide arc towards his face, using all the strength she could muster. The helmet smashed his nose with a sickening crunch; the collision of Kevlar on flesh reaching its inevitable conclusion. Blood spurted freely from his ruined nose before his eyes rolled back into their sockets. He teetered back, finally landing in a heap to join the rest of his unconscious brethren.

  She dropped the helmet and made her way back to the mouth of the alley. She could see citizens passing by the entrance of the narrow street; their eyes and curiosity drawn to the largest accumulation of onlookers congregated at the epicentre of the roadside smash to the left of the opening, out of sight. Her heart hammered in her chest; the exhilaration of the fight coursing its way through her veins.

  She picked up her pace to a jog. She needed to get out of the area quickly. She stopped dead in her tracks at the surprising sight of Charlie Deacon – or more to the fact, the man standing behind him, his pistol pressed against Deacon’s neck – as he was pushed out from the left-hand wall blocking her exit.

  It was the spook whom she’d ambushed outside the precinct. From where she stood – twenty paces away – she finally twigged where she’d seen him before. It was one of Trammel’s bodyguards; the one she’d fired at before leaping through the window. It didn’t stretch the imagination as to who had killed Trammel – given the fact the SPD had turned up as she’d made her escape. Trammel had been very much alive when she’d vacated his premises but had been declared dead at the scene according to the news bulletin – with herself being named as his killer.

  It was a gift from the heavens. From what she’d gathered from Trammel’s scribe, Trammel was an ambitious asshole. Was it possible he’d tread on the wrong toes and the spook had been ordered to take him out? Although, they could have just left her to do it. She cast the questions aside; now was not the time to dwell on semantics. The main thing here was that she’d found her way in.

  “We meet again,” she said. “Banks wasn’t it? I presume you’re the one who killed Trammel after I left? Who gave the order? The Proxy, perhaps? I’ll presume so, seeing as Trammel was becoming a pain in the ass.”

  “Where’s my scribe?” he growled, ignoring her accusation. He looked pissed, shaking his hostage by a handful of his shirt to emphasis his feelings. “Hand it over and I’ll let this little fucker go.”

  Lex laughed, shaking her head. Though, in her mind, she was furious. Deacon had got himself into this mess instead of doing what she’d told him to do and get to safety. “What? So you can kill both of us after you get what you want?” She clapped her hands together, mocking him. “Tell you what, I have a better solution. Let him go,” gesturing to his captive, “then we can talk.”

  Banks turned his head to the side and spat, telling Lex what he thought of that. “You don’t dictate to me, you little cunt. This ends today. You either give me the scribe, or I shoot the two of you right here and now.”

  She gave him a sympathetic smile. “That is an option, yet with one major setback. I don’t have your precious scribe. I dropped it off with some of my new friends.” She felt she had to force the last word out as she thought of Brooks.

  “Veronica? Is she alright?” Deacon asked, his trembling with fear.

  Lex nodded. “I told you to go, Deacon. I don’t need some cop acting the hero. Hero’s tend to get themselves killed.”

  Before Deacon could reply, Banks slammed his gun into the side of his head. He cried out as his neck snapped awkwardly to the side. The spook kept a hold of his collar, holding him upright. He was much larger than Deacon; a head taller and a lot broader across the shoulders. The act of holding Deacon up appeared effortless to him. He held him like a puppet who’d just had his strings cut. A trail of blood poured down from Deacon’s temple as he struggled to keep his legs steady. “Never mind this little shit. You’re fucking lying.” He raised the pistol in her direction, confident Deacon wasn’t going to try anything as he was still reeling from the blow. Blood began to drip off his chin and onto the ground. “I’ll ask you one more fucking time… hand it over.”

  Lex took a step forward, growing tired of the repetition of the spook’s demands. “Before your cruiser was smashed to pieces… a pity as it was a lovely cruiser, I’d wager there was a tracking device fitted within its CPU. It’s the only explanation why these idiots,” she gestured to the bodies, behind her, “were able to descend upon my location so fast. Now, given the fact Deacon had sent them in the wrong direction, you know, after I kicked your ass.” She took a little pleasure as the comment clearly rankled. “I’d bet my life you woke up and gave the cruiser’s tracking signal to the response unit.”

  Banks shrugged. “So, what if I did? What difference does it make?”

  “A lot of difference,” she said, twisting her face in an expression which suggested she was stating the obvious – which technically, she was. “From the tracker, you’ll have known I’d stopped in a derelict car park for a few minutes before heading back the way I’d come to meet with the cavalry.” She paused for a moment; her eyes boring into the spook. “Now, why would I do that? You’re a smart man… at least, I think you are. It doesn’t make any sense… unless I dropped something off to my new friends, who were waiting on me, then caused enough of a distraction so they could get away.”

  The spook looked dubious. “Or, you dropped Hall off to your friends and kept hold of the scribe.” He slowly directed the guns focus back to Deacon’s head. “Won’t stop me putting a bullet in dear Charlie’s head.”

  He was running out of ideas. She could see it in his eyes. Doubt clawed at his features. She had him exactly where she wanted him – off balance and pliable to demands. There was sensitive information on that scribe, information that could possibly leave him surplus to requirements with regard
to his position within the Inner-Sanctum. It was also a way for Sapien-Republic to gain access into NewHaven’s mainframe – she surmised that was what worried him most of all. He was bluffing and they both knew it. “Do you really want to take that chance?” she asked. “Kill me and Deacon, then find nothing on me? Is it really worth the risk?” She pursed her lips. “So, here’s what I propose. You let Deacon go, then we go for a little ride to meet the Proxy. Once we’re all cosied up at NewHaven, I’ll give you the location of your precious scribe.”

  “The Proxy won’t go for that, I’m afraid. Try again,” he said, regaining a little of his composure.

  Lex arched an eyebrow. “He will if he knows I’m willing to tell him the location of Sapien-Republic’s base of operation.”

  He looked dubious, but at the same time, a little panicked. “Your new friends?” She nodded, knowing they were the worst people to have access to his scribe. “Horseshit,” he spat. “You know fuck all about those halfwits.”

  “What will the Proxy… no, the Prime do with you if he found out you killed me before gaining valuable intel on where Sapien-Republic’s headquarters are situated, as well as the fact they practically had a key to the Inner-Sanctum’s front door in the form of your own equipment?” She laughed. Banks looked ready to blow a gasket, whereas poor Deacon looked completely bewildered. “You have to admit our glorious Prime does have a hard-on for extricating that particular thorn from his ass.”

  Banks turned his attention to Deacon. “Give me your scribe,” he said. Deacon glanced to Lex, who nodded for him to comply. He fished his scribe from his pocket and handed it to the spook. Banks jabbed at the screen, keeping a close eye on his captive. He then pressed the scribe to his ear. “Get me Faulks… no, I don’t want him to fucking call me back, tell him it’s urgent. I have ‘the woman’.” He waited as he was put through, while Lex chuckled at the last part of his statement. I have you, you fucking ingrate. He was quickly put through to the Proxy. He explained the situation, and after weathering a torrent of abuse, he cut the call.

  “Your boss not happy?” she asked.

  She could see the spook’s entire world crashing down around him from the beleaguered look on his face. He narrowed his eyes, nodding to her belt. “Lose the hardware. I’ll take you to the Proxy, but Charlie’s coming with us in case you’re talking shit. That way I can watch the bleeders tear the two of you to shreds.”

  The faint sound of sirens – resounding a few blocks away – caught her attention. Their time was up. It was probably called in by the response unit or a civilian bystander, amidst the scene on the main street. She wasn’t the only one to notice, as both Deacon and Banks craned their heads around in its direction.

  Lex shrugged, taking off her belt and throwing it to the side. “Fine, but we’ll need to be quick. This area will be crawling with SPD in a few minutes. If we’re still here when they arrive, we’re fucked. Because if they spot me and rip me full of holes, the contents of your sad little existence goes viral.”

  Banks grimaced, his eyes flitting between Lex and the sound of the incoming unit. He closed his eyes, as though he’d come to a decision. He pushed Deacon a few yards in front of him and began to shrug off his overcoat – switching his gun from his right to his left, then back again, as he negotiated his arms out of the sleeves. He threw the coat over Deacon’s head, where it landed at her feet. “Put that on and follow me,” he said, grabbing Deacon and pulling him towards the main street.

  Lex quickly followed.

  ~

  Li straddled the seat of her bike; her features hidden within the confines of her helmet, as she watched the trio cross the street – surprisingly unnoticed given the fact the place was crawling with citizens strewn across the street in a state of panic and high alert. They climbed into a vehicle. Li recognised the model; frequently used by the SPD. The tall man, she presumed was the spook; Banks pushed a smaller man she didn’t know into the rear of the cruiser. She was a fair distance away, but she could see the smaller man had a nasty looking gash to his temple. She wondered who he was and how he was involved in proceedings.

  Moretti opened the door, then paused. She turned her head, making eye contact with Li. She winced from the woman’s intense gaze. Moretti set her teeth on edge. She couldn’t be trusted. She’d voiced her concerns with Brooks after they’d brought her in from the park. But her reservations were met with deaf ears. Both Brooks and the doctor were blind to the fact Moretti was only in this to avenge the death of her son.

  No more, no less

  As much as it was a tragedy, her reputation over the last six months pretty much told Li she’d sacrifice anything – or anyone – to get her revenge. Moretti wasn’t the only one surprised by Brooks’ revelation; that he knew the identity of Moretti’s son’s killer. He must have recognised him when they were on that boat, all those months ago, and kept the information to himself – there was no other explanation for it. She sympathised with Brooks’ decision to hold back the information. He was waiting until she proved trustworthy to Sapien-Republic. She’d been sorely tempted to take her out when she’d punched Brooks. But again, her leader had chosen to let it slide.

  So, why was she here? Why was she following Moretti? She’d been asking herself those very questions since she’d left Brooks in the car park. And in spite of her denial, the answer was alarmingly clear. She was jealous of what Moretti could do. She’d followed the carnage to see how Moretti would handle the convoy of armed SPD… and she wasn’t disappointed.

  It was also because without Moretti, Sapien-Republic had no chance of gaining access to the Inner-Sanctum – she’d given Brooks the stolen scribe, and thus provided them with their best chance against the Inner-Sanctum, as their track record shot any argument to the contrary out of the sky.

  Aside from Li’s begrudging respect for Moretti’s abilities, she still thought the bitch had been ungrateful after all Sapien-Republic had done for her. They’d fished Moretti’s lifeless body from the water, and how had the ungrateful bitch repaid them? By attacking her saviours and somehow managing to escape the compound to start her six-month reign of terror, accomplishing feats against the Inner-Sanctum she and the rest of Sapien-Republic could only dream of. After losing Moretti, morale within their organisation had reached an all-time low. They had found themselves back to square one, only this time, with a severe lack of volunteers willing to risk their lives for the greater good.

  She remembered vividly, the look on the doctor’s face when she’d been the only one to step up and volunteer herself. He’d smiled at her in that fatherly way that made her want to slap him and told her she was a vital member of the group and couldn’t afford to lose her – which, in Li’s eyes, more or less told her how confident he and Brooks were of another attempt to infiltrate NewHaven succeeding.

  She’d pulled up as the officers had clambered out of their vehicles. She’d watched them pursue Moretti into the alleyway. She’d glanced at her GPS monitor and discovered Moretti had ventured down a dead end. She’d fully expected Moretti to be escorted out – cuffed and safely in police custody, or in a body-bag – when the distinct sound of a flash-bang going off resounded from the area.

  Strangely, there had been no sounds of gunfire – despite the unit being armed to the teeth and out-manning Moretti eight to one. Then the two men had entered the alley shortly after the response unit; the smaller one, quickly followed by the larger one. A few more minutes had passed before Moretti and the two men came back out.

  Moretti gave Li the briefest of nods before climbing into the driver’s side and pulling away from the scene. Li cast her gaze to the mouth of the alleyway, reluctantly impressed with Moretti’s skill at clearly having dispatched the unit without drawing a single gunshot in response. She shook her head and quickly sent Brooks a progress report. She revved her bike and took off.

  Her destination: NewHaven.

  XXXII

  Hall followed the small group in a weary state of silence; her mind
struggling to deal with the ever-rapid changes to her circumstances. They descended down a set of steel steps built into the side of a derelict water filtration plant. Their footfalls boomed with each step, reverberating through the metal structure. It didn’t help Hall’s feelings of unease concerning the structural integrity of their walkway. Hall winced each time there was a sudden sound of something breaking, or falling apart – always out of sight, but nevertheless feeding her growing paranoia that she was only moments away from falling to her death.

  She wondered how old the stairwell was as it creaked and whined from their progress; threatening to disengage itself from the dilapidated building and hurtling them towards their deaths.

  “Is this safe?” she asked, to which no one answered – presumably not wanting to tempt fate by talking about it.

  If her chaperones were worried, they never showed it – or, more accurately, didn’t show it as much as she did. They led her to God knew where at a casual, if not leisurely pace; unperturbed by the stairwells obvious state of disrepair. She guessed from their air of nonchalance this wasn’t the first time they’d used this route. From what she could make out, they appeared to be leading her to some underground hideaway – it would make sense as they were clearly enemies of the state.