by Isaac Nasri
As the shots rain far from them, the two circle each other callously. As Wayne strokes his thumb at the knife’s rubbery hilt, more of the fragments return. He initiates a prowling stance, tilting the blade away from the renegade’s direction. His veins and brain sharpen to the vivid implants flowing in, alleviating the pain in his lower body. Wayne’s gaze falls intact on the soft components concealed by the operative’s breastplate, and his eyes squint.
Losing patience, Hernandez claps the two of his crafted javelins and pounces. His edged poles cyclone toward the human’s direction and Wayne catches one immediately. The Virtual lunges at the other, but the Director easily halts it. Wayne’s knees throb to the ensuing struggle as Hernandez forces him back. That is, until the cyborg thrusts his foot against the human’s chest. Wayne retches to the burn on his ribs, and the processing curtails as Hernandez raises his weapon. The Director counters in a panic, slashing a tear that elicits a howl out of the operative. Blood fountains in mid-air.
Hernandez wobbles to the blow. Patting his hand to the scar oozing down his cheek, fire rumbles in the contractor’s gaze as he swings down a javelin. Wayne eschews from the attack, watching the tip descend on thin air. The Director advances back, swiftly dodging the rampant slashes. Soon Hernandez brings his javelin down, leaving him open, and Wayne rushes in. He knocks the cyborg’s head, jailing his throat, and thrusts his dagger into the open back. The second stab plunges into the lower midline of Hernandez’s spine, and flesh disintegrates in Wayne’s ears.
The Virtual, withstanding the pain, spins the human off the ground and away from him. Wayne retains stance as he taps a hand on the floor. He retrieves his combat knife, spotting his aggravated expression through the reddened surface. The Director redirects his focus on the opponents, nodding to the sight of a bending Hernandez grasping to where the wounds were inflicted. Sweat streams down his chin as he tightens his grip on the twin javelins. A patient Wayne witnesses the cyborg muster everything as he charges until the world brightens.
Rockets from above make their landing on the floor, eradicating whatever tension that played among the officers and JOA operatives. Wayne careens about the impact’s devastation, and the ground implodes. His body slides all the way until he finds his feet dangling. Blood rushes in his tongue as he encounters his fingers pressed against a crippling edge. Screams get muffled by the combustion. Dust blows above him, puncturing his pupils like a traveler trapped in the dune’s sandstorm.
No.
The minute he arches himself is when gravity takes its toll. His knife descends with him in his collapse. His blazer slides from his arms, and his throat roars. Wayne lands on a hard flat, jerking to the soreness rising in his thigh bone as debris tumble, circling him in its pile. Two minutes pass, leading to a sudden stillness in the disquietude. Wayne bites his teeth upon removing a medium-sized scrap away from his ankle, and the mass subsides. He crawls to where his knife rested below the pile, grabbing it cautiously. Wayne heaves to the strain stinging on his side as he rises, coughing to the dust settling.
Wayne wanders his eyes curiously, grimacing to the darkened air of the underground and the water leaking out of the pipes sealed against the walls. Red lights glisten in the space, and his arms dance to the chilly whisper. This had to be an underground zone, he assumed. It was best for him to escape if he can.
The Director takes his step despite the ache in his shin. He pants slightly to bodies of his fallen officers, and the wires dangle. Wayne, aghast, continues to meander, and that’s when he spots a number of destroyed quads and cyborg agents. The air humidifies.
He startles to a host descending from the slippery slope of a crippled pavement above. Once the cyborg lays eyes on his prey is the moment Wayne buries an arm to the host’s mouth. His edge carves a gash into the Adam's apple, neutralizing the cyborg into a shell. Wayne plants a hand to his upper chest, feeling it thump upon hearing a splash from afar. He paces forward, flinging aside wires and blinking to their sparkle. Clutching to a marble column, Wayne advances to his right until he freezes.
Surrounded by the myriad of ruined Prowlers and corpses stood one of Hernandez’s javelin laying. He squeezes his lower lip, unnerved yet intrigued. The mild splash clicks for a second time, and Wayne looks roundabout until stopping at one of the cadavers and the gear plate.
Might not be the only one here after all.
Wayne kneels, rummaging through the set and raising an eyebrow at the twin miniscule mines and the remote. He redirects his attention to the pole, grunting with a strange interest at the idea arising. Wayne inserts a mine onto the handle, witnessing its tentacle imbed like a seed burying into the nest, and he places the rest of the accessories into his pocket.
The Director motions on and glosses halfway over his shoulder as he does. Steam hisses. A minute goes by, and the graces bestow upon him as an exit stood six feet from him, being slightly blockaded by debris. That hope vanishes to an ominous air creaking in the space. The hair in the back of his neck crawls, and the Director stands in place. The echoes cease, leveling his anxiety into a crescendo. His thumb presses down as he maintains a firm grip on the knife.
He takes a sudden swing, and his eyes bulge to a quick snap grappling the human’s wrist. Hernandez’s prosthetic arm squeaks as he raises the Director’s arm, and the latter’s expression distorts to the burn pooling on his muscles. The air escapes his mouth to a steely fist drumming into his stomach. Sodium taints his mouth as he bends until he catches the Virtual release of a javelin out of the back of his belt. Adrenaline takes over him, and Wayne lands his right foot toward the cyborg’s hip.
Grunting, Hernandez let loose his grasp on the Director. Wayne flips his knife, slashing vertically at the operative’s breast plate, and the fabric rips. Once he impales his lateral abdomen, the Director whips out his second mine. He plants it at the PMC’s back in time before Hernandez attempts to swipe at him.
Wayne wobbles toward the wires and grabs onto them. Pulling out the roots, the Director wheels, and knots the ropes in improvisation around his neck. He flings an erratic Hernandez to where his tainted javelin rested. Regaining balance, the Virtual throws down the wires angrily. He hisses at the weapon and picks it up, oblivious to what Wayne draws out of his pocket. He leans the device to his rear, thumb leaning on the button.
No reprisal takes place as Hernandez picks up the sharp pole. The apprehension in Wayne drains, and he stands inert. The Virtual bolts, seizing a purported opportunity at hand until a conflagration impact of the spear chucks him against the wall. Steam bellows over Hernandez as he howls at the wreckage kindling of what was his cybernetic arm. Voltage gushes out of the artificial muscle fibers, and once Hernandez shoots his foe a vicious gaze, Wayne reveals the remote coolly in his hand.
He lets the remote drop as Hernandez glances wildly in his confusion, slapping his hands around him in his struggle to locate the ticking mine. The Virtual swears as the mine delivers its final beam. The eruption’s rays pop out of his torso and mouth like newborn plants ascending to the sunlight. Wayne rushes from the scene and toward the exit as the underground quakes.
His shoulder thrusts at the door, swinging it, and the night’s chaotic air greets him hotly. Two brazen tanks trail on without the aid of their fallen brethren, and their tentacles deliver a thump on the ground as they unleash cannon fire at the Gorillax’s marching in the field. Swallowing, Wayne’s legs brush the bushes and scorched bark as he runs without notice toward the parking lot of abandoned convoys. Rocket engines cry above him, followed by heavy metal screeching behind him.
He encounters an open door and hops onto the driver’s seat, but not before hurling down and splitting the enemy driver’s throat does he close the door all the way. Wayne gives life to the vehicle with a twist of the key, and he takes a deep breath. Dense seething grips his shin as he twists a foot. A dark screen overrides his thought process, and whatever safety he had in mind falls short. Langley, the sole place no enemy has dared laid hands on, has
fallen. It seemed like fiction, something any pedestrian would envision out of forbidden imagery. Unable to look at what he lost, doom sweeps over his head until one comes to mind, snapping him out of his anguish.
Salazar. I better get to her.
Wayne presses on the back pedal, ramming against the horde of hosts fleeing his way. The wheels screech on the pavement as he rotates and advances onto the road.
Chapter 28
Birds flood above the sky, obscuring the moonlight. Honking cars bolt past Soriana on the road of Rock Creek Parkway as she drove under the bridge. A gray blight circles in her eyes to the distorted screening destabilizing on her drone panel. She lost whatever bridge that would’ve led her to the answer she’s been seeking. Yesterday was a triumph that was abrogated so soon upon notice of an abrupt Connection Lost. What could’ve she missed in her steps? What could have possibly gone wrong when her drone had finally made sight?
She deactivates the panel on the passenger seat and hurls it at the back seat. Soriana groans, reaching for the water sitting inside of her holder. The lemon jiggles as she seizes the cup, but the cup’s edge halts close to her lower lip as a chilling scene unfolds, followed by growing shrieks.
What in the world? It can’t be. The JOA’s here?
Her doubts have answered once several rockets descend from afar, illuminating a pool of simultaneous eruptions that flare in her eyes. No wonder for the evening traffic. She’s been fluctuating route after route, trying to make way to McLean until this sinister moment greeted her.
Panting to multiple shadows speeding above her, the cup drops out her hand, splashing on the fabric of her leggings. Her acceleration picks gain. Soriana whips her phone out of her blouse’s front pocket, praying for it to turn on until she grimaces to two missed calls and a terror alert on the screen.
How could I even think of turning off to this?
Haste takes its toll on her as she attempts to reach Wayne on the line. The ringing leads to muffling in the background. She raises her voice.
“Wayne!” she calls. Soriana wipes off the red out her lips. Nothing arises out of her contact. “Director! Is everything—”
The line connection crumbles before she can say further. Her teeth clench in place to the trepidation taking over. A bright shadow looms over her, and Soriana has no time to react as her body bounces to a clamorous bang.
The officer’s head rings as it hits the car ceiling. The goliath’s fists pound like a furious prime ape onto the anterior, igniting a crater immense enough to thrash Soriana forward. Her chest booms. She unbuckles the seat belt, wide eyes bulging and fluttering to the thumps. She shoots a panicked gaze at her right, where her twin pistols rest on the passenger seat. Behind the webs obfuscating the anterior view, several stars sparkle in her direction. Engines growl, and Soriana’s hand folds.
She snatches the handguns and rolls back in time as the glass showers her. The chain of calibers tears a scratch across her back as she lands into the back of the seat. Something sharp peels the right side of her blouse by the shoulder. Soriana swears to the blistering howling down her spine and glimpses at the fabric torn from her now sleeveless arm. Stripping away the torn blouse, she had little to ponder as her vehicle jams to the gatling rounds, preceding the massive claws gnashing their way in, craving for a bone to crack. Blood gushes inside her car, splattering over her hair and skin. Folding behind the tumbling seat like a timorous dog hiding from her poachers, Soriana cradles on the bracelet. A Gorillax reaches a hand underneath but the dome seals in seconds, blockading the pilot’s grasp with a spark.
As the car quavers, Soriana fires at the knuckles and slams a fist on the box’s lock. The top opens to two steely gauntlets inside. Soon as she inserts a hand into the right component, the car rises, and the slope tilts gradually. She gasps, catching onto the last gauntlet and tucking it in. A sheath snakes upward on her arms like liquid, hardening her muscles with a neon plate, nulling whatever impact as she descends. Soriana glances down at the pilot, firing at the temple before her shield careens into the lens.
Soriana descends, locking an arm over the pilot’s facial. The whirling Gorillax growls in a demonic tone, shifting his shoulder minigun at all sides. She swirls. Gunfire and clashing bodies scram into a sully synergy into the streets, and the ashes spit like rainfall on her. The cannons boom at all sides, inadvertently decimating the dense exterior plate of a fellow Gorillax. Scorching calibers slash vertically on the street’s concrete, tearing into the midline of a MPD car, and soldiers leap out of the way. The pilot growls one last time, hunching and prevailing in throwing the diversion aside.
The officer’s back slams against a convoy’s frontal surface. A strange substance grips and placates the pain on her spine. Soriana gulps to the fluctuation surrounding her shield, then the Gorillax. The titan, having retained his focus, draws his cannons at the prey, and the barrels spiral. She aims closely at the throat until a rocket touches base. She startles to the pilot’s head slumping to the blistering impact, and the mech plummets.
Rising, Soriana looks down at herself, stroking a hand in astonishment at the smooth but tense exoskeleton that surrounded her. Neon plates structure her breasts, abdominals, and legs. Her muscles flow to the layers.
The shield loses strength in its flicker. The human shoots a shocked glance at her armored savior storming from inside a convoy with a stinger at hand. The two exchange alleviating glances, but the respite falls short as they turn their heads toward a wild automated roar. The Prowler stalks above the convoy and lunges at the RPG, but Soriana stops the mobile drone short in its tracks and fires a round. The same fate comes her way once a swift sight barrages its way into her dying barrier, and Soriana releases a howl to fangs bearing down at her wrist.
Soriana slips. The Prowler’s teeth gnaw at the layers shielding her arm, eliciting a radiation that kindles a piercing throb in her bones. Its mouth glows. Hair rising, the officer jabs the mouth of her pistol into the jaguar’s eye, firing the trigger simultaneously until the drone’s head rattles. She peels out immediately, sighing to the pain in her bones.
F-22 Raptor’s wings tumble and a road bridge shatters, showering debris over the unfortunate police officers underneath. Women wail inside the red vehicle as a Gorillax raises it. Never minding the shrieks inside, the PMC hurls the mass aside, clashing at a driver struggling to reach out of his car, and Soriana blinks to the vehicles rolling in unison. The officer’s stomach blackens to the sight. The madness has come to light.
Soriana jerks to bullets deflecting on her torso plate. Two quad drones glide over the body of wrecked vehicles, and she fires upward at the pest. Nonetheless, that can only be aggravated when a meteoritic blast shoots her way. She tilts her body out of the way. Her cheeks flush as she rounds her foot onto his chest. The strike swings flat, and the cyborg twists his head. His steaming hands cage her ankle. Soriana presses the trigger, but the magazines fall empty.
She mutters a silent swear upon looking at her shirtless grappler. Molten scars glisten on his gray augmented arms. Marks likened to the stings of a baton lacerate on the Virtual’s hairy chest, but something about his fixated expression and icy gaze shook Soriana. Thorns mount on her skin. Delgado’s voice looms. This was no mercenary.
His NI…it’s not normal. The virus has taken over!
Euphoria and fear take their toll as she activates the battery on her abdomen. The possessed cyborg raises a hand. That is, until the ivory cocoon envelopes on her leg, and he wiggles away to the fuel bursting out of her cleat.
Soriana sets her foot down, and the pavement cracks to the bluish vibrancy caking downward. She heaves to the final component of her exoskeleton, taking power on both of her calves, and voltaic dust sizzles. Indifferent, the Virtual trudges but pays dearly for his blinded risk once the human plunges her foot. Blood splotches out of his mouth and the cyborg’s cervical spine flops, ending his misery until a slash sweeps at her face.
Gulping to the staggering burn, she dives f
rom another strike. A brown falcon looks coldly over its shoulder at her, screeching sharply in the streets as it glided unscathed to the flying bullets.
She makes one turn and CLASH. Soriana’s heart stops to razor knuckles swiping at her shoulder. Skidding, Soriana catches the second fanged fist rushing in. She catches it in time and plows a quadruple of consecutive kicks at the plate. The last blow drills deep into the crotch, and the electrical gust rushes in. Stumbling, he grabs onto his region. The PMC raises his head and breathing stains within his helm’s large blue visor.
So this is my brand enemy?
Raising her fist, Soriana shortens his recovery with a charge. She lowers and wheels her foot. The JOA soldier swiftly jumps. He leaps over the officer’s head, and Soriana finds arms wrapping and closing her from behind. Sweat trickles down her nose as she stomps and jams her head until the pressure prevails. Soriana’s feet rise, and her head slams into the ground. Her hair rumples as she rolls. Her skull aches.
She regains stance nevertheless, lunging and shooting a punch straight at the contractor’s Adam’s apple. The cyborg elicits a chilling gurgle. Startled, the agent cartwheels backward, easily evading Soriana’s kicks. The officer can get this far as the agent exposes several sharp disks in his hands and wields them away.
The air rushes out of Soriana as she skids back. The stars overwhelm her, and she raises her arms in proximity to the face. Her armor clings to the scraps like bullets spitting out of a chopper, hounding the target till she nullifies.
Soriana lowers her arms upon spotting the last of the wave, but her relief turns to an evanescent moment. The agent beckons with his arms upward like a fantastical magician summoning forth a storm. His hands quiver. The minute he brings them down, the wind wheezes. The ice cracks within once Soriana turns around to the swarm of stars speeding her way once again. She skids hurriedly to the side, and the officer slumps to what happens to be an eruption arising out of the pavement.