Sweet mother of science.
Mom isn’t super-mobile. That said, maybe I could boost a transport for us to escape. But to where? My customer is none other than the Scythe, the most powerful crime lord around. He’ll find us no matter what.
Yet he might not discover us right away …
Taking a half-step backward, I get ready to bolt. Then I stop. What am I doing? Screw the Scythe. No way am I pulling up roots; I still have twenty minutes left. Grabbing stuff from RCM1 warehouses is my specialty.
I lift my chin and steel my nerves. This is totally do-able. Refocusing on the auto-guard, I give another command. “Make sure my stuff is ready for immediate pick up.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Shut off the super-cool girl hacker subroutine.” The auto-guard slumps forward as my passphrase erases all traces of this conversation. I glance at my watch. Midnight on the nose.
No time to lose.
Hoisting my backpack higher, I run toward warehouse 942.
Between the Lacerator, Merciless, and my killer customer, I have plenty to obsess about. Even so, I can only seem to focus on one thought.
My sister Luci may be alive.
And somehow, she and I are mixed up with the Lacerator.
Sweet mother of science indeed.
Chapter 2
Pumping my arms, I race down the gravel path toward the RCM1 main campus. Minutes fly by. The stench of bleach and rot grows strong. A thin moon hangs in the cloudless sky, casting a blue glow over the landscape. In every direction, lines of metal warehouses hug the earth. As I speed along, there are no signs of Tetra drones or people. Perfect. I glance at my smart watch.
12:07 am.
Pushing myself, I run even faster. By the time I reach warehouse 942, I’m a sweaty mess. Approaching the metal door, I activate the data panel and enter my skeleton key code. The entrance unlocks with a soft click.
I’m in.
As soon I cross the threshold, jolts of excitement move though my limbs. The warehouse interior is dark, which is fine with me. No point attracting attention with extra light. The place is also huge, empty, echo-y, and creepy as hell. My blood warms with excitement.
Is it terrible that I love stealing stuff in the dark? Maybe, but I’ll enjoy it anyway.
Slipping a small flashlight from my backpack, I click the device on. A thin beam of brightness cuts across the warehouse, showing long rows of wall-like shelves that stretch from floor to ceiling, creating a labyrinth that fades off into the darkness.
The scene holds a surreal quality that reminds me of my strange dreams. Only unlike my night visions, I’m awake and acting in the world. In this moment, anything feels possible. I could even believe in my power to visit another planet so I can watch over some hot alien guy.
But I digress.
Angling my beam, I find a silver table by the front wall. Dozens of spider bots crawl across the surface, positioning different cardboard boxes. I scan the names atop each package, stopping when I read one in particular.
Delivery for: Coolest Chick Ever.
That’s me, all right. Or at least, that’s how I saw myself when I was nine and wrote this subroutine. Scooping the container from the table, I open the top. Four Y-shaped wires sit inside. These may look simple, but a lot of tech is crammed in them.
Dark matter brackets. Yes.
A larger box sits beside the first. I grin. That’s my new alarm clock. No way will I open this now; that’s something Mom and I always share. Holding my flashlight in my teeth, I slip both containers into my bag. While I’m there, I search the backpack for different options that might help my escape … just in case.
Insect drones? No, those are better over miles of distance.
Acid grenades? Good for breaking through walls; not okay for people.
Chem darts? Hmm. Those could help.
I lift two darts from my pack. The thin vials contain clouds of liquid tranquilizer. Toss them to the ground and—WHOOSH—a blue haze appears that makes everyone fall asleep (not me; I’ve been immunized.) I grip a dart in each hand. From a distance, they’ll look like pens or something. Perfect.
Ready to go.
Stowing away my flashlight, I hoist my backpack onto my shoulders once more. With silent steps, I follow the front wall until my fingertips brush the door handle. Fresh adrenaline streams through me. Pulling my hoodie low, I grip the handle, open the door, and step outside.
Oh, no.
Blinding light sears into my retinas, blocking the scene before me. The exterior world appears as a single sheet of brightness. Blinking quickly, I clear my vision. My surroundings slowly come into focus.
What I see isn’t good.
Maybe I should have run when I had the chance.
Chapter 3
A dozen Merciless guards stand in a semicircle before me, all aiming their gash guns in my direction. Ouch. Those things are worse than regular firearms since the bullets explode grenade-style on impact. My body numbs with shock. Even if I toss the chem darts now, the Merciless are known for their reflexes. With so many warriors, the chances one will hit me are about 100%.
Not liking those odds.
In the center of the group, there stands a wispy man who’s about five feet tall. His white lab coat hangs loosely around him. Tufts of gray hair encircle what’s an otherwise-bald head. Small round glasses sit atop his thin nose. I’ve seen pictures of this guy before. Doctor Godwin. He runs the Authority’s program for genetically enhanced animals. In other words, this dude runs the Horde.
Huh. So Godwin is the solo scientist for this expedition? He’s a total muckity-muck. Higher ups like him never leave the Boston Dome.
My stomach sinks. There’s only one reason why Godwin would hike out to the sticks for research. Hell, there’s only one reason Godwin does anything: he’s planning another citizen’s cleansing.
Every fact from past cleansings runs through my mind. A foul taste creeps into my mouth. If my guess is right, the next cleansing will feature both the Lacerator and western Massachusetts. Why else would Godwin visit here in person?
That’s bad news for everyone I know. That said, most people practice how to conceal themselves from cleansings. I’m talking slipping behind fake walls, disappearing into hidden crawl spaces, that kind of thing. But my mother has her fav spot by the window and pitches a fit if she can’t sit there. Not exactly helpful when you want her to hide.
I lock my back teeth in frustration. Normally, cleansings only hit the Boston Dome and its suburbs. This far away, we’ve always been safe.
“Keep holding your fire, soldiers,” Godwin says in a sinister whisper. “My pet appears interested in our dark-clad guest.”
For the first time, I notice how Godwin clasps a small black container against his chest. I’d think he holds a jewelry box, except it’s made from subtly shifting fibers. I draw my brows together in contemplation. Containers made from moving threads? I’ve never heard of tech like that before.
Even so, something about those fibers seems oddly familiar. I’ve witnessed that kind of tech before, but I can’t place where. Could it be from one of my dreams? It’s possible. I get some of my best invention ideas from those visions.
The dark box shimmies in Godwin’s hands, interrupting my thoughts. “Quiet, my beastie.” He keeps pawing at the container, which is super creepy. “My pet has nothing to fear from you, does he?”
I give the doctor a little nod. Best not to antagonize the evil guy with twelve killer-helpers who’s toting around a questionable container.
The box shimmies again. Godwin makes a tsk-tsk noise. “Ah, my poor Lacerator. You don’t like your cage, do you?”
Despite the horror of this situation, the scientist in me becomes intrigued. Rumor is, the Lacerator is huge. How would you fit a massive attack beast inside something that small? The non-scientist in me screams, run for your life! Only I can’t. The Merciless are still focused on me. If I move, they’ll blast my brains out.
&nbs
p; That’s when it hits me. The next few seconds could be my last. A chain reaction of not-so-happy thoughts erupts through my mind.
What have I done with my life? I hide out in a basement, take care of my mother, and invent techie stuff. I’ve never been kissed (I don’t count the incident in second grade.) I rarely see my friends, since that involves leaving my inventions and lab. Sure, I’ve kept me and Mom alive, but there’s surviving and there’s living.
I haven’t really lived.
And now I’m about to die.
That realization hits me, hard. The knowledge seeps through my soul in ways I hadn’t expected. A single thought overtakes my mind.
To live, I need to change.
Within my deepest being, some sleeping part of me kicks to life. The sensation is both familiar and peculiar. It’s familiar because of my dreams where I use special powers. Not that I remember the details of those when I awaken, mind you.
Problem is, I’m not asleep.
I’m very much awake, and things are all too real.
Something about me is actively changing. I can only hope it doesn’t get me killed.
Chapter 4
An odd, high-pitched ringing fills my ears. I scan Godwin and the Merciless. This is loud stuff, but no one else reacts. Whatever this sound is, it’s a noise only I can detect.
That’s weird.
Once more, I contemplate my dreams of superpowers and cute aliens. I don’t remember specifics of those night visions, but I do know that in them, I wield some kind of special ability. And in this moment? The sensation that those dreams are becoming reality turns even stronger. Deep inside me, pieces of my soul snap and shift.
Panic jolts through my nervous system. My soul is snapping? Shifting? What the WHAT?
Scientist-Me seems to hover outside my body for a moment, watching Regular-Me stand rigid before the Merciless. The noise disappears while some black particles materialize around my body. Like with the noise, no one except me seems to notice them.
And they’re particles.
Seriously?
Now my soul is shifting AND there’s flying grit that only I see? GAH.
Even more particles appear. Now the haze becomes so thick, no one should miss it. I check Godwin and the Merciless once more. Do they notice any of this particle action?
Not at all.
Like with the noise, this is something only I can perceive.
And it’s a bunch of flying particles.
Time to reassess my situation.
At this point, I see two options. One, I’m totally insane. Based on my mother’s history, that’s quite possible. Two, my inventions often poke around in other dimensions and universes. Maybe I picked up something along the way and—whatever that something may be—it’s been manifesting in my dreams. Now that same thing’s trying to help me escape. With option one, I’m pretty much doomed no matter what I do. But option two? If I play along, I might just live.
Option two it is.
More things alter within my soul. Synapses connect. Energies sync. Abilities focus. Great mental cogs whir for the very first time. All the particles around me vanish. Images flash in my head.
Darkness.
Shifting threads of black filament.
A cascade of dark particles.
No question about it. These mental pictures are coming from inside that black box. This is the Lacerator’s view. I take in a shaky breath. Somehow, I’m looking through the Lacerator’s eyes, assuming he has them. How would that work, exactly? Before I can contemplate the answer, new emotions flood through me. They aren’t mine.
The burn of fury.
An ache of hunger.
A longing so sharp, it’s painful.
And finally, the soft chill of calmness.
Once more, I’m certain these emotions come from the Lacerator.
A plan forms. No, forms isn’t the right word. The scheme appears in my head as a series of images sent to me from the creature.
Image one. The golden container opens.
Two. I speak a command.
Three. The Merciless run away.
Four. I escape.
The creature is using pictures to communicate a plan. In this scheme, the Lacerator wants to get loose, scare the warriors, and enable me my escape.
Nice work, Lacerator!
Now you’d think in this situation, I’d just agree to the creature’s plan and get started.
Nope.
One of the great benefit-slash-curses of being me is that I always have an opinion. Always. Even with Merciless guards pointing guns at my face and a genetically enhanced attack animal talking to me telepathically.
In this case, I want to perfect the Lacerator’s plan, so I send my new buddy a mental image of my chem darts, hoping the creature understands.
Let’s include these in my escape.
After all, some Merciless may hold their ground, no matter how scary the Lacerator looks. With my monster acting as a distraction, I’ll have a few precious seconds of surprise that I can use to my advantage. There should be enough time to chuck a chem dart or two. A fresh picture appears in my head. Again, this isn’t my creation.
Flash. An image of me tossing chem darts like a pro.
The meaning is clear. My new friend agrees with my suggestion. Great.
The Lacerator communicates again, but not with pictures this time. Instead, an electric charge of joy courses through my limbs. I’m taking that as: let’s get started.
I totally agree.
Still keeping my hoodie low, I gesture to Godwin. “Why don’t you set the Lacerator free? I’d love to meet him.”
Godwin’s thin nostrils flare. “What an interesting test for our little beastie. Do you want to come out?” The box rattles more fiercely than ever. “I can see that you do. Let’s try an experiment.”
Little by little, Godwin opens the small container. My breath catches as a single dark claw peeps over the box’s edge. Then another. Both talons are shrouded in mist, like the creature itself isn’t solid. Then I remember my vision from when I was looking inside the box.
Particles. That’s what the Lacerator is made from.
And just a few moments ago, I was surrounded in particles as well.
That settles it. The Lacerator uses these particles to connect with my mind. Part of me screams how this isn’t normal. These are particles, for crying out loud. Run, Meimi! I try to move; my feet stay rooted to the spot. My body feels like part of something else.
Or rather, part of someone else.
Strangely enough, that realization only brings a fresh wave of comfort. This time, I’m not sure if it’s coming from the Lacerator or me. Even so, I’m all in.
The creature and I are connected. It wants me to escape.
More particles rise from the container, forming a dark cloud before Godwin. This time, it’s something he can clearly see, considering how he’s staring right at the particle cluster while a small smile rounds his thin lips. Based on how a few of the Merciless tremble with fear, they see the beginnings of the monster, too. Interesting. Maybe the Lacerator can control when particles are visible.
The specks shift, taking the shape of a great beast, one that’s seven feet tall with dinosaur-style plates down its back. The creature’s thick arms end in clawed hands that scrape the earth. Its skull-like face is long, with hollow eyes and a wide jaw lined with rows of knife-sharp teeth. Everything about the beast is solid and yet semi-transparent, reminding me of grit trapped in amber.
The Lacerator.
Quick as a whip, the creature rounds on Godwin, trying to slash the doctor through with its talons. Nothing connects. Every time the Lacerator gets within inches of Godwin’s body, the container flashes with purple light. A force field then appears around the doctor—a haze of violet brightness that hovers just above Godwin’s skin. Each attack follows the same pattern: an attempted slash from the Lacerator, a flash of purple light from the box, and a violet-colored force field that protect
s Godwin.
Fresh emotions pour through me. Again, none of them are my own.
White-hot rage.
Bone deep humiliation.
A craving for revenge.
Whatever the Lacerator may be, I know one thing: it loathes Godwin.
“Now, now,” coos Godwin. “Be a good little Lacerator. We both know you can’t attack me while I hold this.” The doctor raises the box in his hands.
The Lacerator pauses, his semi-transparent body quivering with fury. Tilting his head back, the creature lets out the mother of all roars. The howl is so strong, objects in nearby warehouses crash to the ground. Even the black armor of the Merciless rattles.
The doctor doesn’t so much as flinch. “Why don’t you say hello to our new friend, my pet?”
At this point, it strikes me that my escape plan could be one big con. After all, don’t some creatures lure their prey right before attacking? Maybe the Lacerator is the Venus fly trap of bloodthirsty monsters. Bands of worry tighten around my chest.
Inch by inch, the Lacerator rounds on me. Every cell in my body freezes. Fresh feelings stream through my soul.
The magnetic pull of interest.
An ache of longing.
The electric thrill of joy.
The beast towers above me, arms raised, and claws extended.
Although its pose is menacing, I sense no threat from the Lacerator. Without question, I move forward with our plan. As the image instructed me, I give a command.
“Go after the Merciless,” I order.
The Lacerator’s body explodes into a cloud of particles. Thousands of tiny projectiles tear through the Merciless. Armor, helmets, bodies, and gash guns—nothing stops the onslaught. The particles rip through the warriors in a thousand places at once. Moving in unison, all twelve soldiers crumple to ground, dead.
I blink hard, not believing what I’m seeing.
This can’t be right.
But the Merciless really aren’t moving. Blooms of red blood seep out over their armor.
Scythe Page 2