by Isaac Nasri
Lightning ignites behind the dark clouds. The officer wobbles to the thump emerging behind her on the narrow street. Rockets from above topple, and an explosion snakes horizontally, consuming the fences and electric poles in its blaze. Tree branches collapse, scarring a tear at Soriana’s calf, but she pushes aside the sizzling pain. Scorching flakes flicker into her nostrils.
Hold on, Director!
Her heart rushes, blown by such a provocative strike. The moment she reaches the shattered gate of the Central Intelligence Agency is the minute teardrops tap at the top of her ear. A rocket bolts toward the A-12 display, crumbling the statue. Soriana decelerates toward PMCs storming and surrounding the parking lot.
“Aim fire!!”
She drives her head to the shots, raising her arm as she sped. The band on her wrist glints, and she raises her head to a circular orbit embracing her. Bullets bounce miserably to the barrier and rapid raindrops pound. Soriana fires a quick shot before clashing her wheels against a firing Virtual. The cyborg’s rear plummets into the glass of a car’s posterior window. She regains speed, even as her shield jiggles to the gunfire.
Approaching the headquarters, the pummeled bodies of her officers laid in proximity to the breached entrance. Blood lingers on the floor. Charging cyborgs look back too late as Soriana’s motorcycle thrusts them aside like a rhinoceros. An explosive knocks aside from one of their hands, and the human officer makes a strong bend. The scorching radius lands its hit, whipping against her barrier, and her grip on the cycle spirals.
The rain catches her in a heartbeat as she runs inside the shattered doors. Inside the lobby, a lone, dark-skinned operative with cornrows stalks with a heavy rifle at hand. Plasma roars like dragon fire from the muzzle, and debris implodes from the columns. Soriana pounces like a Bengal tiger from the grass, grappling the agent by the throat. The cyborg scurries for the plasma rifle, but the human cuts his chance as she rolls back. She raises her thunderous foot, slamming it against the rifle, and the structure shatters. The plasma reactor rolls toward the cyborg.
Growling, the PMC lunges. He sweeps his hands for her, but Soriana motions swiftly with her body, evading blow after blow. Her veins ring as he traps a prosthetic knuckle with her hand. Locking down the other, she twists the arms and thrusts her shin into the crotch. The cyborg skids to the blow, groaning.
“¿Dónde está el Director, agente?” he questions.
“Lo diré una vez que meta mi pie en tu trasero,” she spits out. The electrical aura swoons over her legs as she circles him. “I’ll tell you once I stick my foot up your ass.”
The Virtual straightens his shoulders. “With no armor, I’ll make this your last then.”
The two clash blows. The human officer’s nerves scorch to a fist slamming her temple. Regaining stance, Soriana twirls with a kick. The cyborg shifts to the impact on his shoulder. He has little time for process as the officer clashes her foot consecutively, destabilizing his guard. Adrenaline overwhelms her as she leaps her foot in mid-air, igniting a voltaic boom that hurls him back.
She rushes after her enemy rolling back in a panic, only to bounce back as the Virtual grabs and whirls a flag pole. The cyborg rips the flag aside and stalks, panting through gritted teeth. Gulping to a blood drop on her hand, Soriana rounds her shin, but her enemy dives in an instant. The cyborg counters, whipping the surface against her spine. Shivering to the pain, Soriana staggers to the cyborg thrusting the pole toward her. She clings at it, and the two glower as their grips inundate the other. The Virtual bashes his temple at hers, and her head bounces. The pole endures a slight crack.
She hits flat, and the cyborg aims with the sharp edge. Soriana swirls on the marble floor, and she dives her cleats toward the stomach. The PMC yelps as he ascends, destroying whatever chance he had.
Snubbing the blood on her nose, Soriana rushes toward the kneeling militant. Soon when he attempts to turn, she whips away her coat and hurls the soaked piece like a rope around his neck. Yanking back, she nails her shin forcibly to his spine. The groaning PMC twirls while Soriana skates, staring in anticipation. Reckless, the agent swings, and to her advantage, she seizes him by the wrist.
She plows her knuckles into his mouth before bending his arm further. Pinned to the column, the frazzled PMC’s mouth hangs, and he greets to a rising foot. With the first blow processed, Soriana jams her foot downward at the top of his skull. He gulps at the impact.
Maintaining her grip, she whips her cleat forward like a flamingo, crashing a chain of blows into his face. A rush of euphoria flows inside her blood as her legs dance. Lightning slaps at all ankles, sparkling his cheekbones until Soriana screams upon releasing the final kick. His head cracks into the column, and the stand crumbles.
Soak and sweat synergize, soaking the skin on Soriana’s face as she stands. Panting and fist clenched as she glares at the PMC’s unconscious state behind the dust. Blurring stars kindle in his eyes as he lays inert. Blood-ridden lumps disfigure his lips and facial. A pool of blood leaks to her foot, soaking the floor. Whipping out her cell phone, Soriana initiates the call.
Chapter 15
Troy opens fire. The bullet spits from his muzzle, colliding with the drone’s blast. The cyborg turns away to a minuscule detonation showering in the air.
Screams and buzzes flood from within, burning into his ear. Passengers scatter, cowering to the quad drones gliding inside the car like wasps. Ducking low, Troy bustles his way through the flashing gunpowder and tumbling bodies. Sharp glass sprinkles on his back. He fires, cracking one of the drone wings in flames before a swift blow knocks him.
Troy recoils to a grasp tackling him by the throat. Notwithstanding the struggle, Troy swirls and raises the tackler, slamming her body to the ground. Rolling, the tackler raises her head, and to no surprise, the heckler's face reals out. Baring her teeth, she crawls, but a glaring Troy aims the handgun, halting her in place. Sweat drips from her head as she shivers.
“You wouldn’t dare, would you?!!” she screeches diffidently at him. The heckler sees him scurrying while still maintaining the level of his pistol at her. “Oh yeah! Soon as I get out of this, those DAMN guards will get on your a—”
A shower of gunfire cuts her baseless threats to the head. The skin on her face tears to the horde of bullets coming in all directions outside. That is, until her body slumps, leaving a soaked and disfigured skull rocking on the floor, to Troy’s good riddance.
One less trash wasted.
Troy’s heart rushes as he advances, and stumbles to the ground, wobbling. Peace just won’t come his way, he cogitates. His pupils highlight, pervading an azure veneer inside the car. To his surprise, he spots a highlighted terrorist in a hooded vest, hovering unscathed on a gliding board. Whatever view he gains is blockaded once orange quads fly his way. He picks gain, uniformly firing at the drones.
“Daddy!!” a child cries in the background. “DAD!”
He slips to a scurrying passenger, and the bullet ricochets on the ceiling. He swears to the quads burgeoning and swirling from above. Their miniature chain guns spiral, flashing with each fire they hiss. He presses rapidly onto the trigger till the last bullet tumbles. Irked, the cyborg rolls below the table of one of the seats and unzips his bag, scavenging for a magazine. Blood slithers, and his skin crawls. Time rumbles.
Finally injecting the clip, Troy rises from the shadows and intercepts only to jerk to a shot tearing at his fabric. Adrenaline flowing, he lunges for one of the drones by the wing and tosses it aside like a Frisbee.
Shoving aside a fleeting border, the Virtual manages to level aim at the surfer. Two rounds fire toward the shattered window, and the board’s engine combusts into a blaze. Despite his stance on the board, the terrorist descends, and the train quivers to a crackling blow.
Down!
Smoke comes his way, and the specter in red rises from afar. Troy leaps over a seat until his eyes bulge to a radiating dart. His skin heats to the proximity, and he evades the blast. A craven m
an squealing in a high pitch attempts to flee, but the beam cuts him like an apple pie, severing his skull in two.
The shimmer in his eyes fades upon spotting corridors leading to the second floor. Reaching up, escaping the gunfire, Troy locks the door. Taps clam behind. His blood cools, but the alleviating sensation subsides upon stumbling to a chilling shriek.
“No! Please!!” a blonde waitress pleads vehemently on the ground. Trays and tables lay disheveled. “Please! Have m—”
Troy jerks to a blaring boom, and the hooded terrorist stands, lowering his pistol. Ruby vapor hisses from the blackened gash planted at the heart of the victim’s throat. The airs temperature decreases as Troy witnesses a visible cybernetic palm glimmering behind the terrorist’s sleeve. The suspect clocks his head sideways as if noticing the unusual, and the hoodie slides. To Troy’s horrifying chagrin, the rogue cyborg turns his head.
Troy’s horror plummets upon gazing at the tanned professional in a white polo and shorts removing his Terrier cap. His slanted eyes blink. The black goatee, shaped like a triangle, remains visible on the ex-human’s chin as he waved his racquet in the court. Bouncing balls echo in Troy’s ear. It took Troy to take one step back, and his lips numb upon witnessing the figure he once knew. Ashen, frazzled, and now in his early forties, the Virtual remains posed with the pistol locked at the former trainee’s spot.
No. I can’t believe this!
“Hey!” Troy barks. “Coach—”
He recoils to blood-red plasma darting at him like a bolt, bursting a crack to the wall. Troy breathes to the scorched puncture, and Casey Lu leaps like a rocket to the ceiling.
Stalking to the wind roaring downward from the crater, flapping against his pants, Troy jumps. He pushes up to the edge and snakes onto the quivering surface. His bionic fingers tingle, snapping to where he rested before rising on his knees. His chest taps rapidly. Wind slaps at Troy’s cheeks, and an imminent rumble booms. A squad of quad drones motion from Lu’s side, transpiring to where a capacious bay of water floated before turning around.
“Stay back!” Lu warns.
He opens fire, but his blast misses Troy by two feet. Troy retaliates, firing at Lu’s grip on the arsenal, disarming the latter. Lu grimaces, stepping back as Troy stalks closer. He signals, despite the fear riveting in his bones.
“Coach!” Troy calls out, stepping forward. His voice is stamped by the gush, and his throat stings. “Coach Lu! Look at me closely! It’s me!” Troy raises his sleeve, exposing his prosthetic arm. “Troy Levi! Don’t strike! I’m NOT your enemy!”
The cynicism in Lu’s expression drains, and his clenched hands unfold. A moment of gentleness crossed his face as he stood.
“Troy?” he questions worriedly. Lu looks at all sides. “Am I…am I seeing illusions?”
“No! No!” Troy disapproves. He shoves away the pistol, waving his hands. “It’s me! What ARE YOU doing?”
He couldn’t believe it himself. After all these years since Boston University, Troy wouldn’t imagine facing his coach like this. Now here the two men stood, bonding as Virtuals, and whatever seclusion gnawed at Troy then is cleansed by this grisly reunion. Unfortunately, he had yet to say the same for his former coach, who stooped in this morbid direction, and questions consumed Troy.
Lightning booms behind the clouds. Lu squeezes his bionic palm, trapped in a period of silence, and an air of gray floods over him.
“It’s over for me, bubby,” he says sadly. The Amtrak below them motions, despite the chaos booming below. “Shame you had to witness.”
Troy shakes his head. “Whatever you’re doing Lu, we can find a way to get out of—”
“No other way!” he protests. A second rumble echoes from above, followed by drops descending in a gradual state. Lu steps back, eyes quivering as he scans the landscape. “I’m through with the entire Boston laughing at me. They…they cast me out, for who I am! Can’t even be with my daughter anymore. I don’t even know where I’m from.”
“Lu.” Troy’s chest cuts, and a dense air hangs over his eyes. “You know. I don’t think you still remember, back in the field.” He pauses. “I still goddamn remember you being a rough one on us. But you always told me never to hit ground zero. Regardless of that pain.”
Troy takes a pensive reminiscence to his eyes gazing astutely on the machine. The second ball spits and his feet sprint from the court’s pavement. The speed of gravity diminishes as his body leaped like a shield for the incoming ball until Lu jacked his arm, holding Troy in a gauche stance before he even touched the ground. Then his memories speed to his body slammed into the pavement and the pain firing on his cheekbone. The shadowy figures of his customers in the university shop loomed above him, fist clenched until a broad, muscular presence stepped foot from behind unbeknownst to them. Troy looked up to the two customers gasping as the coach trapped their necks under his big arms. The former learned something valuable.
His former coach glances and a tinge of shame wallows in his eyes as if the reminder has crushed him. He sighs.
“Your home is my home, Troy. But we’re their outsiders now. Deluding otherwise in this dimension, it’s just madness.” Leaves blossom from the trees below. Drops beat at Lu’s nose as he continues, “You see, buddy? When Neo died, he died knowing, armed with the knowledge of this cruel reality we live in.” He gestures to Troy and then himself. “Each one of us Virtuals is Neo inside, at arms against a society that hates us.”
I don’t even know what to think of that.
The more Lu spoke, the cut in Troy’s heart deepens. He can’t afford to let the man, who installed so many lessons at college, descend in this path. This couldn’t be the end between them.
“Lu—coach,” Troy pleads. His throat swells as his body trembles with harrowing emotion from within. Buzzing rings in the benign drizzle. His eyes turn bloodshot. “I’m no stranger to pain. You may always be my coach. But this won’t change the pain.”
Frowning, Lu storms from the edge, returning his glance at Troy as he motions four feet from the latter. He shakes his head in disapprobation. “Today’s an awakening, but by this time, I’d be gone then.” The anger that once seethed in his voice fades to a sense of calm serenity. His eyes turn hazy. “I’ve found the way to solace, Troy. I can see it. The gardens, it’s calling. I’ll be in a better place.”
Soon as he states it, Lu releases his silver sleeve, exposing a remote embedded onto his glinting bionic arm. Troy’s mouth hangs, and the synergy of quad drones swarm up into the storming clouds, heading in a direction he didn’t fathom imagining.
Smiling, Lu says, “One day, you’ll be in my shoes. Make the decision before it FINDS you. Goodbye, buddy.”
Troy rushes, but Lu’s body dissipates, and the ruby combustion slaps Troy aside. He careens, clutching onto the car’s edge as explosions tear the train’s structure from within. He gasps to the debris imploding toward him, and Troy’s magnetic grip slips.
Gravity pulls the cyborg in its grasp, and his body hits the bay. Every massive remnant of the Amtrak descends with him as Troy sinks into the water. His blood freezes, and his eyes sting, obscuring his view. He mustered whatever he could to scream and swear as he sank. However, bubbles escape from his mouth.
It took a minute for Troy to witness the myriad of bodies descending. The naked body of a male passenger sinks in front of Troy. His skin was charred by burns. To his chagrin, several of the passengers flail their arms crazily, struggling to reach the surface as the water’s density is dragging them. Spotting his black backpack sinking, Troy dives downward and retrieves it before bonding the handles to his chest.
Troy holds his breath as he flaps his feet and whirls his body upward to a large floating plate. His nostrils flare, and mucus leeches before obfuscating. He reins his head, clutching to the floating debris and coughing the flood of water congested in his throat. The rain, roaring rapidly than ever, beats at Troy’s head and the plate motions for itself, floating toward a metropolitan dock.
Guess I’m at Manhattan then.
He refuses to make further acknowledgement as the plate nears the area. A bright neon flake draws his attention, and Troy turns his head. His body shakes, witnessing a sinister ambience consume the landscape many feet away from him. A skyscraper tumbles in the distance before being clouded by the scarlet fog. The Virtual looks away, sealing his eyes to the unspeakable horror, and his heart bends. He couldn’t have picked a worse tragedy to set foot in.
***
Alana drives hastily at Province Street, and the raindrops beat at her front window. Her fingers dampen in sweat as she clutches the wheel. Blazing particles gush her way, and she stops by the crumbling arcade to where Gabriel stands. His loose jersey shorts flap to the grisly storm. Individuals behind him sprint in a scatter, and the entrance door tumbles as the stampede magnifies. Gabriel, standing laced with a brownish backpack around his white T-shirt, waves his hands frantically upon seeing his elder sister lower the window.
“Aye!!” she admonishes, motioning her hand. “C’mon!! C’mon!!”
Gabriel rushes inside the back of the seat, panting. His eyes drench in red as he wipes the glittering particles from his chubby face.
“I have no clue what’s happening, Alana!” he cries. His sister’s luggage rests adjacent to where he sat on the left. Gabriel coughs wildly. “I need to get my—”
“Can’t go back!” she rebuffs. Swallowing, Alana reaches to pat Gabriel’s bag on his lap. “Stick with your wallet and whatever you have inside! For now, till we hit the Bronx.”
She returns her sight on the road. Making a right turn, Alana hurries pass the swirling drivers her way. Cafés and edifices tumble, incinerating to the scorching debris plummeting like meteors. Propaganda boards careen her way and her foot on the pedal quivers. Passing her way out of the metropolitan space, Alana’s eyes turn bloodshot to what’s witnessed.