Terminal (Visceral Book 4)

by Adam Thielen

  “That’s fine.” Matthias took a seat next to Rogers’s door and waited. Outside he could hear the crowd roar, followed by blaring music. But after fifteen minutes of waiting with no word on Rogers, Trent became concerned, and five minutes after that, three security officers entered the room to join the first. Matthias glanced at the attendant as he rolled his office chair away from the desk and against the corner.

  Trent stood as the men approached.

  “Sir, please come with us,” the officer on point requested.

  “I think I’ll just wait here,” replied Trent.

  “We will take you by force if necessary.”

  Matthias looked from face to face. “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter why,” barked the officer. “We’re in charge here.”

  Matthias blinked. His face went from concern to surprise and then relaxed.

  “Haven, right?” he asked with a grin. “Name is Matthias Trent. Maybe you are familiar with my work?”

  The lead officer sneered.

  “Let me ask you guys something; is the Dracul part of your little club?”

  One of the guards looked to his alpha as the sneer faded.

  “It’s treason, then,” said Trent, sliding his feet apart for a wider stance. He held out his arms as if expecting to be handcuffed, and the leader stepped forward to restrain him. Matthias reacted by shooting his hands forward, grabbing the officer by the neck and shoulder pad, and yanking him close. He kicked the guard’s knee down to the floor and spun him to face the other three as they had started to move on him.

  They stopped and watched as their leader used his hand to try to pull Trent’s fingers from his esophagus. But Matthias was too strong, and his fingers sank further into the man’s flesh and then around his windpipe. His grip tightened and he freed the guard’s throat from his neck. Trent straightened his arm in front of him, then opened his hand, dropping the esophagus to the ground.

  As the officer’s eyes rolled backward, he clutched at the hole in his neck, and Matthias pushed him forward onto his stomach, his face landing at the feet of the other three Haven thugs, who in unison reached for their guns.

  Matthias bolted forward, bounded off the downed guard’s back, and front kicked the center of the three, sending him tumbling. Now in between the remaining two, he grabbed one of the guns and ripped it from the officer’s grasp. In turn, the officer hit Matthias in the jaw with his free hand.

  Trent dropped to a crouch and rolled to his back while extending his arms, holding the pistol with both hands. He fired on the unarmed man, hitting him in the chest, then continued raising his arms, aiming his gun up at the armed officer behind him. Both fired at the same time. Trent’s bullet went through the guard’s face while the guard’s bullet entered Matthias’s stomach.

  The unarmed guard leapt onto Matthias, grabbing his hands to attempt to disarm him. Matthias braced his feet against the guard’s hips and kicked him back to his feet, then fired three quick shots with two hitting his chest and one in his neck.

  The first guard that Matthias had kicked scrambled to his feet and pulled his gun. He fired blindly while running out the door. Trent stood and followed, chasing him down the corridor toward the pod. Need to stop him before he can warn the others, Matthias realized. He brought his gun up and emptied the last of the rounds into the man’s back. The officer fell forward, sliding to a stop. Before the daze of hitting his head against the hard tile wore off, Matthias was upon him. He placed the barrel of his empty weapon to the man’s head.

  “Where’s Rogers?” yelled Matthias, his words safely contained to his immediate company due to the din of the fight audience.

  “H-he’s dead!” the man shouted. “What do you expect we’d do?”

  Matthias grabbed the man’s gun off the ground and pulled him to his feet. “You’ve seen the light, praise be.”

  The thug stared at him in confusion.

  “Takes guts to switch sides,” said Trent. “There may be hope for you yet. Let’s go back to the office where we can talk things through.”

  * * *

  The defending champion took his time making his way to the ring. He loved the crowds and the cheering and the energy of the moment. This would be his third season defending his title since ending the ten-year reign of the previous champ.

  Alexi Rasulov was a proud man and a proud fighter whose training was his life’s work. The best coaches in the nocturnal world had been coaxed to New Apulon at his behest. He had spent decades refining his skills and turning proper technique into second nature. His body was perfectly sculpted into a balance of rippling strength and lean agility.

  Like most everyone else, he knew who Tsenka Cho was. But he was not impressed with her accomplishments. His world was inside the cage, and he believed that her skill set did not translate to combat as a sport.

  Despite his confidence, he knew that she was dangerous, and as he stared her down while the referee went over the rules in the center of the ring, he knew he must take the fight seriously or risk losing his title.

  For Tsenka, the risk was far greater. As the ref called them to action, she stepped forward, unsure what to expect. For a few tense moments, both combatants circled the ring, waiting for the other to strike. Cho swung but Alexi moved back out of harm’s way. She tried again, and he continued to dodge.

  A few in the crowd began to boo, and Tsenka charged at Rasulov, who responded by jumping at her with his legs wide. He wrapped his calves behind her back, latching himself on to her while he started pummeling her face. She slammed him to the sand, and he continued trying to punch. However, with her weight on him, the effectiveness of the strikes was lessened, and he chose to unhook his legs.

  Alexi decided he wanted to bring the fight back to standing, but Cho decided otherwise, pinning him to the ground. She clasped her hands behind his neck and continued shifting her weight while he fought to get up. As his movement became more erratic and less disciplined, she snuck one of her legs out from between his, and then tucked her head under his armpit while wrapping her arm around his neck.

  Sensing a choke attempt, he flailed again, and Tsenka snuck her other leg out and around him. Now straddling him, she could reach his face while he could not return the favor. She batted at him with her fists, almost as if to toy with him. He bucked his waist into the air, but could not shake her. This was a position she had practiced often.

  He twisted his body to try to shield his face, and Cho grabbed his arm and yanked him back. She grabbed him by the neck to hold his head still and drove her fist into his mouth. Alexi tried to cover his face with his forearms, so Tsenka struck his chest until he moved his guard lower. She continued trying to bait his arms away, then released his neck and began punching the sides of his head, alternating from one to the other.

  Rasulov tried spinning, this time succeeding, but before he could lift himself up to his knees, Tsenka grabbed the crux of his elbows and pulled them behind his back. She leaned forward and slid her legs under his as if burrowing under the sand. She locked her feet together at the ankle, elevating his thighs off the ground. As Alexi squirmed, Cho slid her hands down to his wrists and pulled them up into the air, then forward, continuing to overextend his shoulders.

  The champion began to scream, and Tsenka continued to push until both his shoulders dislocated and he yelled for the referee to stop. The official put his hands on Cho’s wrists and tugged, and when she did not release, yanked her arms away forcefully. Tsenka rolled off her opponent and jumped to her feet. The noise in the pod overwhelmed her and she began to sob, but quickly wiped at her eyes and tried to remain dignified.

  Matthias pushed through the throng in his journey toward the cage as the Dracul’s most trusted officers split the audience on the other side of the ring, then pushed them apart and created a wedge of open seating. Andrei strode through the path his men had created while those in attendance cheered his arrival. Workers removed the cage itself, leaving only a raked sand pit with a pod
ium for the top three finishers.

  It was tradition for their leader to attend the crowning of the champion, and this time he was clad in ornate robes with Chinese dragon prints running up the sleeves and down the sides. It was attire befitting royalty when compared to the rags he wore when Tsenka met with him. Diego Gimon, dressed in a much shorter robe of a similar style, took his place beside the Dracul. He was no longer cheering and waving at Tsenka, but he wore a broad smile.

  Despite the injuries, Alexi took his place next to Cho as the runner-up with Margaret on the other side, her forehead looking good as new. While waiting for the crowning, the masses continued to chant Tsenka’s name, with most of the nearly one thousand nocturnals of the city attending the spectacle.

  The tournament’s manager, Ms. Lariat, brought a ceremonial sash made from gold links in front of the new champion and awaited the Dracul’s exaltation. Andrei stood to address the crowd.

  “Nocturnals of New Apulon,” he began. “You humble me with this thriving city you have created with your presence, your joys, and your passions. You are more than just citizens to me. You are family.” The Dracul paused, and the mass of vampires stayed deathly still, waiting for him to continue.

  “Every year, I have the great honor of crowning a nocturnal worthy of one of our most prestigious accolades. Every year, we witness the greatness and prowess that the vampire is capable of. Not just in victory, but also in our resiliency after defeat. This year, not only do I get to crown a new champion, but I also have the pleasure of welcoming to our great city a new member of the New Apulon family. Congratulations, Tsenka Cho. I dub thee champion of combat.”

  The audience broke their silence and applauded. Tsenka stared at Gimon as he clapped politely, beaming with pride. The manager placed the sash over Tsenka’s shoulder, surprising her with its weight. The crowd began to chant, “Tsenka, Tsenka, Tsenka.” Even Alexi was trying his best to clap, swinging his limp arms together.

  “Who would like to hear from our new champion?” posed Ms. Lariat, inciting more cheering. “There you have it. What would you like to say, Champ?”

  “Thank you,” began Tsenka, waiting for the cheering to subside. “So much of life is timing and placement. I was meant to be here in this moment. When I first arrived, I didn’t believe this place or the nocturnals here were authentic. But you have all shown me that what you—what we have here is incredible. And it’s something as champion I must protect.” Tsenka swallowed and looked Diego in the eyes. “And with that duty in mind, I wish to invoke the rite of succession.”

  The doused crowd smoldered with murmuring, and her fellow competitors looked at her in confusion. Red’s jaw dropped in half-amused surprise, and a cry rang out from next to the sand pit.

  “No! Tsenka, don’t!” It was Matthias. His hands gripped the rung of a short barricade that kept the crowd at bay, and his shirt was stained with blood. The murmuring grew and the Dracul waved his hand.

  “Silence!” he called, his voice dominating all others.

  Gimon smiled and then laughed, ignoring the Dracul’s request. “Calm down, she’s joking.”

  A few in the crowd laughed in response, but the Dracul did not move or react.

  “I’m not,” said Tsenka. “Consider this a formal request. I am challenging—” she stopped to swallow—“Diego Gimon for the line of succession.”

  Gimon shook his head, still smiling. He stopped and stared, and his demeanor began to shift as he realized she was serious. Tsenka watched the import of her words break his heart, and felt her own breaking just a little as well.

  Diego stepped toward the sand pit. “I don’t understand. Why? Why do this?”

  “Will you uphold the tradition?” Tsenka asked of the Dracul, who in turn gestured to the current successor.

  “Explain yourself to him,” he ordered. “And then we shall see.”

  “Because, Diego, you are a traitor to New Apulon,” she charged.

  “I am not,” he hissed. “Who the hell are you to come in here and decide what is treasonous and what is loyal?”

  “You feed intelligence to the UTI, to Cepheid,” continued Tsenka. “You let them access your satellite so they could track the aircraft that come and go.”

  Gimon shook his head. “Stop this,” he said. “You don’t know what you are doing.”

  “You helped them pinpoint the entrances to the city,” said Tsenka.

  “Bullshit,” he responded. “Why go through the trouble when I could just give them the coordinates?”

  “You don’t know them,” said Cho. “No one does. The sat doesn’t respond with positioning data. Reception navigators use a black box system to guide craft in. The only way to figure it out is to fly someone from a predefined point with a tracker that can interface with the satellite.”

  “Tsenka, please, I don’t want to do this,” he begged.

  “Then step down,” she demanded. “Relinquish your title to me.”

  Gimon looked to the Dracul. “This tradition is ridiculous, she is an outsider.”

  “I am sorry, my friend,” said Andrei. “But I rule her challenge valid. Vacate succession or prepare for combat.”

  Gimon heaved in frustration, his expression turning to anger. He glared at Cho. “Fine,” he said. “I’ve tried to warn you.”

  Margaret and Alexi stepped off the sand pit, still confused, while men removed the podium. Matthias could contain himself no longer, shouting, “Stop, Diego! You don’t know what she’s capable of.”

  Gimon turned to Matthias. “She was riding my dick while plotting to kill me… I’m pretty sure I do.” The successor threw off his robe, then the shirt underneath, and turned back to Tsenka. “Weapons?”

  “I have all I need,” she said, holding up her hands.

  Matthias rattled the barricade, his expression rabid and pained. He screamed, “Tsenka! Stop it! If you do this, we are done. We’re done!”

  His words shook her, and Cho’s lip trembled. She could not look at him; she feared too greatly the look of hatred he bore.

  “Tsenka!” he yelled.

  “Silence,” said Andrei. “Even the life of a vampire is terminal, and we must honor our rites, and we must respect those that participate in them.”

  Matthias stared with bloodshot eyes and gritted teeth at Diego as he stepped onto the sand opposite Cho. The combatants stared at each other in tense silence.

  “Begin,” the Dracul shouted. The city came to life again as the crowd broke into cheers.

  Tsenka Cho commanded her nanites to release the blood stored in her system. Her synapses quickened, her heart raced, and everything around her moved the same slow speed it always had. The blood fueled her muscles, giving them strength they did not normally have, and also fueled her nocturnal abilities.

  Gimon raised his hands in a fighting stance and shuffled toward Cho. Though his snail-like motion tested her patience, she remained disciplined, waiting for a moment. And then it came, a simple punch. He had only wanted to feel out her defenses, but to her enhanced state, it was an opening. She could see his muscles ripple, from his forearms as his fists tightened to his abs as they assisted his body forward, and further down to his thighs.

  He was a sculpture before her, and she appreciated his form one last time even as she dashed past his oncoming fist with her own hand outstretched. Claws as long as her hands extended from her fingertips. They stabbed into his neck, puncturing his throat and slicing his jugular vein. She did not try a follow-up attack, knowing it was unnecessary. The throng fell silent.

  With his strength quickly spilling forth, Gimon used what remained to push Cho away. He began to fall as his own blood washed over him. Cho rushed back to him, sliding to her knees. She grabbed him around the waist, then cradled the back of his head, gently laying Gimon onto his back.

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry, Diego. I didn’t want this, but I couldn’t let you…”

  “It is n-not like you th-think,” he sputtered as blood
flowed down his neck and between grains of sand.

  The Dracul stared at Diego. His normally relaxed eyes widened.

  “For ye-years the UTI has been after us,” he continued. “Hiding h-here? That’s a death sentence. We play a dangerous g-game, and one side refuses to take their turn, hoping the other just gives up. But they aren’t going to give up, not ever.”

  Gimon was speaking louder now as if to convince the city. “I warned them, the council, the people, and even the Dracul,” he said, moving his eyes briefly to Andrei. “No one wanted to believe me. Eventually, they would have found us, trapped here and defenseless.”

  “There are other ways,” she argued.

  “Are there?” he said. “We can’t all be as great as Tsenka Cho, trotting about the globe to protect the New Republic’s interests. W-we nocturnals are vastly outmatched by those that want us d-dead. I might be a traitor to this city, b-but I’m devoted to our kind.”

  Gimon turned his head to the side to look at Matthias, who gripped the barricade with a sullen and defeated expression. “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder with you,” he said, his voice now faint. “I just couldn’t forgive what you did to her.”

  The successor’s eyes closed and his body gave out. He released his last breath, then he, the Dracul, and the city became still.

  Matthias hung his head, turned away, and pushed through the crowd. His two closest friends had just died in front of him. The Dracul flared his nostrils. He said no congratulations to the victor, but instead turned and marched away from the arena with his security detail.

  Tsenka leaned down and kissed Diego on the forehead. A teardrop fell from her cheek and onto his.

  Episode 18: Office Party

  Trapped inside a cement-walled perimeter with a live intercontinental ballistic missile, Taq Jones quickly assessed his options. He had heard Anne’s voice from the loudspeaker and wondered if she was on the premises.