Illegal King

by Mason Dakota

  I deeply gasped for breath before I looked toward Lorre and said, “Thanks.”

  Lorre gave a typical grunt. “How come I have to be the one to keep saving you, Shaman! Isn’t it your job to save me?”

  “Nobody’s perfect, Lorre,” I grumbled. I coughed into my hands and saw blood on my gloves. Lorre saw it and I said, “Maybe this time we just say we’re even now.”

  “Um, guys,” said Thomas. I turned to where he stood staring out into the office space. I couldn’t see his expression, but I saw the tension in his shoulders.

  This can’t be good.

  Sixty-Four

  I slowly peeked over the cubicle and spotted a firing squad of eight mobsters with assault rifles trained directly on Thomas. “Shaman!” barked one of the mobsters, “On your knees or we will shoot!”

  The mobsters weren’t looking at me. They couldn’t see me. But Thomas was wearing his Shaman mask and standing in their field of vision.

  “Uh…,” said Thomas.

  If we survive this night I’m going to have to teach Thomas a lesson or two on being snarky for the hell of it.

  My hand shot out quickly, grabbed his arm and threw him to the ground. Gun fire erupted a second after Thomas fell.

  He hit the ground as bullets ripped into the walls and cubicles between us and the mobsters. The bullets shredded plywood and plastic across the room. Desks exploded under a barrage of gunfire. Papers filled the air like super-sized dandelion seeds.

  Among the howl and roar of automatic guns came the sick cracking sound of furniture as it shattered. Darkness might have hidden us from their line of sight, but it did not prevent them from firing as they lit up the room with muzzle flash.

  “Great! Any bright ideas now?” screamed Lorre into my ear. Or at least I think that’s what he said. Maybe he was telling me his favorite pizza toppings.

  “You know Lorre, I’m really getting sick and tired of your attitude,” I shouted back over the gunfire. I wasn’t sure how much he heard me. “How about you stop complaining and actually do something for once?” I barked back.

  Lorre opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas beat him to the punch and shouted, “Enough arguing! If you haven’t noticed we are in the middle of something!”

  I hate when other people point out my childishness.

  I grumbled under my breath and snatched a grenade free from Lorre’s vest and shouted, “On the count of three!” I pulled the pin, counted to three and then chucked the grenade over my head and across the office. I heard a mobster scream in fright and suddenly the gunfire stopped.

  The grenade exploded.

  Fire and light sprang from a pit of hell the size of a small sedan. What was left of the fixtures and furniture flew through the air as flaming saucers. I watched a chair, still intact but inflamed, smash through a window out into the street below. With that, every window shattered outward and blew glass onto the street below. The explosion vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared and left behind a shattered floor plan, scorched carpet, a few small fires, and two dead mobsters.

  Thomas and Lorre shot to their feet with their weapons blazing. Lorre hoisted his sub machine gun and shot down two dazed mobsters who never had the chance to defend themselves.

  And he calls me the murderer.

  Thomas showed greater mercy, putting down mobsters left and right with his tranquilizer. He matched Lorre step for step, moving farther and farther into the room as he dropped mobsters as quickly as his fingers could pull the trigger—never missing a single shot as mobsters fell one by one with darts sticking out of their exposed flesh. It comforted me that he still showed mercy where Lorre and I failed.

  Lorre and Thomas gave an all clear signal as I struggled to get on my feet. My legs were growing ever weaker as my heart raced faster. I got to my feet and stumbled to brace myself against a wall and fight back dizziness. I considered calling for a rest, but we didn’t have the time. We had to move.

  I pulled out my shotgun and cocked it as I said, “All right, we’ve got to move. More will be coming.”

  “Let them come. I’m enjoying evening the score with these cop killers.”

  “But if they’re the cops in Chicago now, what does that make you, Lorre?” I asked. Lorre scowled at me.

  Thomas beat him to any snappy remark by shouting out, “Guys, we’ve got the military coming in!” He glanced out one of the giant openings that once was a window. I knew he saw a dead and quiet city, dark and cold, flooded by men in red armor charging their way into our very building.

  I looked at my watch and said, “Looks like they’re right on time.”

  “You mean to say you wanted the Emperor’s men here?” asked Lorre.

  Thomas, quickly piecing the puzzle together in his mind, turned around and said, “That’s why you wanted to come through the front door—and chose a loud reaction instead of stealth. You wanted this battle to be loud!”

  “Noise brings soldiers,” said Lorre.

  I smiled beneath my mask, nodded and said, “They weren’t the only ones who received an invitation to tonight.”

  “You don’t mean…,” said Thomas.

  I nodded.

  “You actually told them you were going to be here?” moaned Thomas.

  I chuckled methodically.

  “You created a bait Rigs can’t resist,” whispered Lorre. He cursed under his breath and whispered, “You just started a war between the NPFC, the Sabols, and the Empire!”

  “With us squished right in the middle,” whispered a horrified Thomas.

  “This girl better be worth it,” growled Lorre. The way he held his weapon worried me.

  Will he shoot me and flee before it is too late?

  “Yes,” I said. “She’s worth it.”

  Already we could hear the exchanging of fire between the NPFC mobsters’ assault rifles and the Imperial soldiers’ blasters. War had broken out in the floors beneath us.

  A sea of red was coming our way.

  Sixty-Five

  We rushed across the floor and headed straight for the staircase on the opposite end. The floor was split between two massive open offices connected by one singular hallway. We made it to the start of the hallway when all hell broke loose.

  The staircase door that we had barged through suddenly kicked open and in charged a squad of five soldiers in red armor with blaster rifles. They flushed us, waving their weapons around the room’s destruction and screaming for us to freeze. I wanted to, but there is something about the word freeze that always tempts me to run, so instead I ducked my head forward and sprinted.

  We crossed the threshold of the hallway just as the soldiers started firing. The rifle’s red bolts of energy lit up the dark office like a laser show, only they vaporized everything they hit into ash and fire. Each shot did about as much damage, if not more, than an entire magazine from one of the NPFC assault rifles or a grenade launcher. Energy bolts opened large man-sized holes in walls and ceilings and floors. Small fires ignited around us.

  But their shots missed us, maybe thanks to the darkness or maybe our quick thinking and movement. Or maybe some higher power granted us grace and luck. Whatever it was, the three of us broke from their line of sight and entered into the next large office space of cubicles that waited to be destroyed.

  The office area was filled with heavily armed NPFC mobsters.

  I froze as the mobsters charged out of the very staircase which we ran toward in hopes of escape. I didn’t take the time to count them; there were maybe a dozen total. They didn’t move with discipline of battle soldiers who worked as a team. They moved like jackals eager to kill.

  We were trapped between two beasts.

  I resisted the urge to dive into the break room next to me. It was a kill box. I did the senseless thing and charged straight ahead with my shotgun in my hands. Surprise was on my side, but my team was nowhere to be seen.

  Alone, I broke through the threshold to the next office area. A small army of NPFC mobsters st
ood before me, a squad twice as deadly of Imperial soldiers came up behind me. The only light in the darkness were the soldiers’ flashlights. Their light fell upon my back and I saw my enemy before me. They raised their weapons to gun me down.

  I was faster.

  I kicked off a desk to project myself high into the air. At the same time I pulled the trigger to the shotgun. It roared like a bear with tongues of fire flashing in the night. The slug kissed the chest of one mobster as his body twisted and flung backwards over a cubicle. The mobsters dove for cover and I hit the ground, hard. Pain shot through my increasingly brittle bones. I rolled my way out of sight into cover from a cubicle.

  The mobsters opened fire in search for my position. They poured hot lead into the room, straight into the squad of soldiers charging in. There were no shouts of alarm. Both sides opened fire. And I was right in the middle.

  Sprays of bullets and streaks of red energy crossed the office, destroying everything they struck. The dark office exploded in strobe light between flashes of gunfire. Bullets redecorated the office space all around me. Mobsters went down screaming with their limbs scorched off and holes burned through their chests. The soldiers took the brunt of the machine gun fire. Their armor was almost impenetrable to small arms fire, but these mobsters were using police-grade assault rifles. The armor protected against most of the bullets, but eventually it cracked and splintered like wood. Then soldiers dropped. For every soldier who fell, four times the number of mobsters fell—maybe more.

  As terrifying as it was to see two forces clash, the effect magnified as I crouched in hiding in the middle of it all. I forced myself to spring into action, as stupid as it might be (but stupid was kind of my thing).

  I dove forward out of my hiding place and lay down on the ground in the small walkway between cubicles. I squeezed the trigger to my shotgun and pumped shells down the walkway at the dark figures standing there. My bullets struck at their knees and I saw two mobsters go down screaming, clutching at bleeding legs. I rolled into a crouch and darted through the cubicles.

  I became a ghost—utterly and completely invisible. I bobbed and weaved, sticking as low to the ground as I could. Next to me the wall exploded in fire and wood as a bolt of red energy streaked into it. I hit my knees on the carpet and sprang back up. I came around the corner right into the view of one of the soldiers. He spun around to face me and his flashlight lit me up like a spotlight. There was no hiding now.

  So much for being invisible.

  That moment crystallized into a stillness of breath as he turned to look at me and see my shotgun aimed at him. I saw around me, moving in sloth-like slow motion, bullets and red bolts streak through the air. The soldier’s shock melted like ice before me as he recognized my mask, registered the weapon in my hands, and processed me as a threat that must be eliminated.

  From fugitive to outlaw I go.

  I fired the shotgun and time resumed its normal pace. Then I did it again and again, straight at the soldier as I rushed forward. The soldier still pulled his trigger as he turned, his weapon not yet fully lined up on me. Red bands ripped past me, blasting apart anything over my shoulder. My slugs struck his chest piece. The first round failed to penetrate his armor, the second just like it, and my third clipped his hip, but the force with which they hit him caused him to stumble back. His body twisted and fell as though he were struck by a barrage of runaway cars. I crossed the distance between us and rammed my shotgun into his helmet visor, cracking the black lens and forcing him from his knees to his back on the floor.

  There’s a big difference fighting street mobsters and trained Imperial soldiers.

  The soldier recovered from the blow so fast it made me question if I had even hit him in the first place. With lightning-fast reflexes, he snatched my wrist before I could pull back my arm. He stepped in close and struck me twice in my bruised ribs with his free hand. Something cracked and I gasped in white-hot pain.

  Why does everyone go for the ribs?

  Pain made me lose focus and the soldier, still holding onto my wrist, twisted his body and I was suddenly over his shoulder and through the air. I crashed onto a cubicle wall which broke apart under my weight. The ground never hurt so bad to feel. I wanted to just lie there and die. That wasn’t such a bad request was it? Sadly though, the soldier refused to be generous.

  The arrogant jerk!

  He reached down and lifted me by my shirt collar. My shotgun was nowhere to be seen. I saw his eyes through the crack in his visor; they screamed fury, which was understandable since he’d just taken two shotgun blows to the chest.

  He pulled his fist back and swung at my face. As quickly as I could, I brought my arm up just in time to deflect his blow. It wasn’t painless; that’s for sure. It hurt so badly I feared he might have broken both of my arms with that single punch. He pulled back his fist and I drove my knee up into his groin.

  Cheating is always allowed when your life’s on the line.

  The soldier grumbled and relaxed his grip enough for me to slip free. I immediately grabbed his helmet and smashed his head down on the surface of a desk next to us. The desk shattered and the soldier went down to the ground on his hands and knees. I raised my foot and stomped on his neck. He flattened and I think, even over all the gunfire, I heard a groan of pain.

  I raised my foot again, but he rolled over and lashed out. He caught my leg, the one still on the ground, and struck me right in the calf. I howled in pain as my leg cramped. I fell backwards to the floor. I awkwardly found my footing and hoped to avoid a wrestling match against the soldier. My stomach already swirling with nausea, I got to my feet and turned to see him squaring off with me. His breathing came in heavy gasps and I could feel the aura of rage radiating off him. I felt the same familiar comfort flood through me.

  He could very well draw his sidearm and shoot me. I could do the same with my blaster, but there is a deep pride found in men during brawls. Unspoken rules are established. Neither of us would draw our weapon. We were going to kill each other with a more classical and Cain-like nature.

  The soldier reached up and ripped off his cracked helmet. He wanted me to see his face when I died, to know that he was a Noble, genetically superior to me. He was making our fight more than just a survival, he was making it the battle of our people, his kind with their genetics and technology, and mine with nothing but sheer maddening will.

  He reached to his side and drew that strange device made up of just hilt and handle, the one they call a shifter. It was a device with no edge and no point to it and nothing which seemed to make it appear threatening. I scoffed and drew my own knife. I flicked it around my fingers as intimidatingly as I could. I think I failed due to the excruciating fire exploding in my chest and stomach in a hurricane of pain and torment. My heart raced a million miles per hour and rushed me toward a death that might very well come sooner than this soldier could kill me.

  That won’t keep me from one last fight.

  “Come and get it,” I said.

  The soldier smiled. A clicking noise emanated from the shifter. Suddenly a red streak burst from the hilt of his device and shaped itself into a glowing longsword made of red energy. It buzzed and screeched like a blaster.

  Gulp. I am hopelessly outmatched!

  He clicked another button as he raised his sword above his head twirled his arm, and suddenly the blade shifted and twisted until it was no longer a longsword but now a medieval mace and chain weapon. I fumbled to the side as I screamed in terror. The large spiked ball smashed into the ground where I once stood. It cracked, or maybe a better way to describe it is burned, through the floor, cremating everything it touched.

  The soldier stepped forward and jabbed his shifter toward me. In an instant the weapon changed again, blurring in a haze of red energy from a mace and chain to a long spear which he thrust at me. I skipped backwards, twisted my body, and slapped my knife against the spear and watched horrified as my knife melted.

  Stupid Griffon!

>   The soldier charged, pulled back his hand and with it the weapon once again changed this time into a glowing red battle ax. I dove to the ground, but I had been slowed by my shock at the melting knife. His battle ax made a glancing blow across my arm. Fire erupted in my skin and I screamed as I collapsed. The wound, though cauterized immediately, burned with a wicked scent and a long black mark striped my bicep. My clothes were fringed and melted around the ugly black and red wound with steam rising from it.

  Above me stood the soldier, smiling with visions of victory. The battle ax shifted now into a long red whip of buzzing electricity. He raised it up and brought it down upon me. I reacted with instinct, reaching out and grabbing the first thing my hands felt next to me. It was a computer tower. I yanked it between me. The whip struck the tower, its tip piercing all the way through and ending a breath’s distance from my throat. Sparks flew through the air, crackling and popping the moment the soldier’s whip had struck.

  The soldier yanked back on the whip, taking my shield with it. I lay there with my blaster pistol in hand. I was finished with the unspoken gentleman rules of combat. Cheaters win sometimes.

  “Surprise!” I said and then fired.

  A red streak of energy flew out and caught the soldier unprepared. The shot tore through his armor and struck his bicep. The man cried out in pain, losing the shape of the whip as he grabbed his left arm, now dangling at his side, tightly with his right. I jumped up and fired another shot, but the soldier was quick. With the click of a button on the shifter, a shield of red energy lit the space between us.

  My shot struck the energy shield and fizzled out. I backpedaled and fired more shots into the shield. The soldier stumbled forward, and as long as I kept firing he kept up the shield. He picked up his pace, slowly building into a charge. I scrambled backwards as fast as I could before he suddenly shouted and lunged.

  His shield shifted into a sword and he aimed to run me through with it. I side-stepped and swung my pistol like a club. Luck was on my side as I struck his wrist and sent the shifter flying away from us into the dark. Our eyes met and I found myself unable to avoid the temptation to gloat over my small victory.