Jarasax shot another screamer, and another hazmat team ran out. “I think the Composer was just trying to scare us. He has to be more limited than it seems. Otherwise, none of this makes sense.”
Adam let off a few more shots, though he didn't hit anything outside of the small horde, still too large to take on at once. Hopefully he'd attract only a few. They weren't quite smart enough to rush all at once, thankfully. “What do you mean, doesn't make sense? We're fighting superpowered zombies. Nothing makes sense.”
Jarasax shook his head. “Think about it. As far as we know, he could have hooked a singer up to some speakers, or hypnotized his way into NHQ. So why hasn't he?” He shrugged. “The only reason I can think of is that he can't.”
Flynn frowned. “You're a changeling. You should know better than anyone that sometimes the enemies' goals just do not make sense.”
Jarasax narrowed his eyes. Flynn was on dangerous ground here. “What do you mean?”
“If he doesn't want to infect the city, his goals start to make more sense,” Flynn said. “Maybe he's trying to... I don't know, harden us. Make us stronger.” He pointed off towards the horde. “Two o'clock.”
Adam took his direction and popped another screamer. “How does that make any sense? People are dying, not getting stronger.”
“It's Domina City. People die every day.” He shrugged noncommittally. “Besides, it's just a theory. And I didn't say he was right, just that it's the only way I can think of his actions making sense.”
Guland—that was his name, Guland—lit another cigar with the ignition for his flamethrower. “Or he's crazy as the fey. Maybe he thinks this is fun.”
George gestured out at the devastated landscape, shattered buildings, and bustling medics trying to save what few they could. “This is fun?”
“We're not the ones who set up the game,” Guland said, as he let loose a burst from his flamer on a cluster of skins. “We're just more pawns. Ask the chess pieces how they feel about being set up and sacrificed every game.”
“Speaking of pawns,” Adam said. There was someone, a giant it looked like, running across the ruined street away from the camp, dodging the skins. “Who's that?”
“Poor idiot,” Flynn said. “What does he think he's doing?”
Guland shrugged. “Someone probably convinced him we needed a scout. Which we don't.” He let loose another blast. “Burn the earth in front of you and sift through the ash later, that's how you scout.”
“No, I don't think that's it,” Alex said slowly. She tracked the man with a monocular she had pulled from somewhere. “He's got something on his back. A bag of something.”
“Maybe he's planting explosives,” Adam said. “You know, bottle these guys up and make them easier to handle.”
George didn't seem convinced. “Maybe... but we've got dozens of Canians around. They'd know explosives better.”
Kelly snapped her phone shut. “I've got the answer. That was a text from MC. The jackoff stole a bundle of stimpacks.”
Adam frowned. “That's the accelerated healing stuff, right? Why would he steal those?”
“Fungible material,” she said.
He gave her a blank look.
“They're easy to turn into money. In high demand, but not expensive enough that everyone's going to be looking for them. He can turn a decent profit off those.”
“Scum,” Flynn muttered, spitting on the ground. “Stealing medical supplies from a warzone? Men and monsters, at least the zombies attack you from the front.”
That's when Adam had a really stupid idea.
“I'll go get them,” he said. He vaulted over the improvised barricade and gave a quick half-salute to Kelly. “Tell Derek I'll be back soon.” He started running.
“Anders! Get back here! Blood and shadow—no, don't follow him! Just cover him!”
Adam barreled forward, dodging past the skins. There were a lot of them, and he would have been quickly overcome without the retinue sniping zombies that got too close or seemed about to box him in. With their help, and a few well-placed blasts from his shotgun, he made it safely through the horde in minutes.
It didn't take long to spot the alley the thief had dodged down. It had a few trucks blocking the entrance, which would be enough to keep the zombies from getting through.
Probably.
Thankfully, as a thinking creature, Adam was able to climb up on top of one of the boxy trailers, where he had a good view of the alley ahead. He didn't see anyone, which was odd. It was a dead-end alley. There were a couple dumpsters he could hide behind, but the thief was a giant. Adam should have been able to spot him.
Well, no other way to tell than to just jump right in. He pulled out his St. George and swapped the buckshot rounds he had been using for one of the Teflon-coated armor piercing slugs he had bought from Turgay about two weeks back. Never hurt to be prepared.
He dropped down into the alley, eyes in front, ready for anything...
And immediately felt the barrel of a gun pressed again the back of his skull.
The bastard had been hiding in the shadow of the truck. Or maybe in the truck. God dammit...
“Drop the gun,” he ordered.
“I was just worried you'd get overwhelmed by the skins,” Adam said calmly. “No need to get upset.”
“Drop the gun, 'sarian.”
“Technically I'm sort of a Necessarian auxiliary, not officially part of—”
“Do you know what this is?” he asked, tapping the back of Adam's head with the barrel of his gun meaningfully. “This is a MD92/14.5 Hand Cannon. One of the first guns made by the McDowells.”
Adam blinked. “Wait, as in Senator—”
“His brother, yes. It's a fourteen-point-five millimeter pistol. That's bigger than most sniper rifles. It's insane. Ridiculous. No one needs a gun this big. You'd snap your wrists on the first shot if you tried to use it.”
He cocked the gun with a loud click.
“Unless, of course, you're a giant. Now drop the gun, Anders. I won't ask again.”
He knew Adam's name. How the hell did he know his name?
Something to worry about later. Adam did as he ordered, tossing the shotgun a few feet to his left.
“The others, too.”
Damn. He peeled off his Sica and his Caedes and tossed them to his right. He unbuckled the clasps locking his Athena in place, and tossed it in the pile too, then raised his empty hands over his head.
“Now what?”
“On your knees.”
“Hey, if you think I'm going to just let me execute me—”
He shoved Adam hard in the back, forcing him to stumble forward a few feet.
“All right, all right,” he muttered. “I get the message.” He knelt down on the dirty alley floor, grateful for his jeans. “Actually, would you mind if I sit down? More comfortable that way.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
He switched to a cross-legged position that was easier on him, but also harder to stand up quickly from.
It appeared to lull the giant into a sense of security, because he walked around until he was in front of Adam. He still kept the gun leveled at his head, though.
And dear God, he was right about it being big. Even in his massive hand, it looked huge.
The man himself was eight feet tall and built like a body builder, with biceps literally the size of Adam's head. He was wearing a white t-shirt, which showed off his muscles a little more than Adam was comfortable with, and had a leather bag slung over his left shoulder.
“I know you,” the giant said slowly. “Been hearing rumblings about you.”
Adam narrowed his eyes. Had he heard Adam was working with the Paladins? “Really.”
“Yeah. Huntsman gets a new monster slayer buddy, it's a bit of news in certain circles. And then he let you fight a gargant without him?” He whistled appreciatively. “You must have some serious skills, to merit that treatment. Huntsman fusses over the men under him like a mother hen.
I've never heard of him letting a hunt go down without him.”
Okay, as long as he didn't know about the Paladins, it was fine. “What's your point?”
“I did some research on you. Not much, but enough. I know you're from New York, but that's about it. Maybe you're a military brat, maybe you're just another street thug. Whatever, I don't care.”
He brought his face close to Adam's, while keeping the barrel of his gun pressed firmly against Adam's forehead. His hand didn't waver a centimeter.
“But you're not in America anymore, brat. This is Domina. You've been under Huntsman's wing, so you've been protected. You don't know what this place is like.”
Adam gave him his best death glare. He didn't seem impressed.
“As you are aware,” Adam said evenly, “I killed a gargant. Mostly by myself.”
He didn't seem to care. “I started out as a demon. A hellion, actually.” He chuckled. “Then I got an offer from the Thors, decided to become a giant. Simple enough. Thing is, my Devil didn't want me to go. So I had to kill him and a dozen of my friends.”
Adam didn't say anything.
“The Culture Wars are part of Domina and the toy maker, more than Butler and Clarke will ever admit. They think it's just kids playing dress-up, but it's war.” He looked down at Adam with a grin. “That's my problem with you. You think the same as they do, but you don't have an army to back you up.”
“I'm beginning to wish you'd just shoot me.”
“You sheltered little brat. You're still acting like this is a game. Like nothing that happens matters. This isn't your country. If I shoot you, I don't have to worry about cops or jail time. I just have to survive long enough to make coming after me no longer worth the trouble.” He grinned. “Butler likes to pretend he can protect people, but he can't.”
“Maybe I don't need protecting,” Adam said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “You know nothing about me. You admitted as much yourself.”
“And you haven't been listening,” he said chidingly. “There are no laws here, other than 'don't cause too much trouble.' And you? Hardly any trouble at all.”
“The Big Boss doesn't like people breaking his soldiers. Besides, maybe I'm more than you think—”
“I know you're a clay.” He grinned wickedly. “You seem to think that makes you unique. And you're right, it does. But mostly? It just makes you weak.” He drew a line on Adam's cheek with his claw. “Fragile.”
Adam ignored the burning sensation with difficulty. He wasn't going to bleed out from a scratch on the cheek, but he was worried about poison. Giants didn't usually have poison, but still. He needed to get out of this quickly.
“I may be weak,” he managed in a calm voice. “But your toys make you arrogant.”
The giant chuckled. “I can afford to be arrogant. I'm bulletproof.”
“You sure?” Then Adam pulled the trigger.
It had taken him a few minutes to maneuver his Saint George into position without the giant noticing. If he hadn't stumbled over to it when he had first shoved him, he wouldn't have been able to at all. It was a big gun, difficult to keep out of sight, but he knew it was the only thing he had that would be able to do real damage to a giant like this.
So when the time was right, and Adam had the weapon carefully hidden between his legs, he brought up the barrel and fired straight into his chest.
It also bucked hard into Adam's crotch, driving the wind out of his lungs and making him sick to his stomach. His condition didn't improve when the damn giant collapsed on top of him, some three or four hundred pounds of muscle just bleeding on his chest.
He was already losing feeling in his legs, but he couldn't even get his arms free to move the corpse. He needed to... crap, what could he do? He couldn't call for help from this position, and he couldn't reach his phone. If he started yelling, he'd attract the screamers. And Necessarius wouldn't be here for hours...
“Hold still,” a pleasant male voice said. “I'm going to roll him off you. Don't want your hand getting caught.”
Adam turned to his left to see a thin young man with gray skin and a shaved head emerging from deeper in the alley. He, at least, was normal sized, so Adam guessed it made sense that he had been hiding behind one of the dumpsters or something. But why hadn't he come out before now?
Oh, right. The giant with the stupidly large gun. That might have had something to do with it.
Adam at least managed to keep his mouth shut for the five or so minutes it took for him to roll the corpse off his legs. It was only when he started regaining feeling in his extremities that he felt it was the right time to start asking questions.
“Who are you?” Right, politeness. “I'm grateful for the help, but I'm a little surprised you just happened to be squatting in this alley.”
“Oh, it wasn't a coincidence,” he said with a forced smile. “The giant was going to give the stimpacks to me.”
Adam did a double take. “Wait, what?”
“We planned to meet up here to baton-pass the medicine and throw off suspicion,” he said. “But then he decided to get cute and try and rant at you instead of just killing you. Or waiting for you to leave. Or dropping the medicine where I could find it and then running. Really, anything besides ranting at you for five minutes would have worked.” The man kicked the corpse. “Freaking Blackguards. Think they're better than the rest of us.”
Adam tried to ready his gun without him noticing. “Are you going to kill me now?”
The man shrugged. “I don't see a reason to. No orders to, though I suspect if we meet again, that will have changed. And as you pointed out earlier, killing you could cause problems. A couple thousand bucks of stimpacks is not worth the wrath of Necessarius.”
Adam thought about what he was saying. He seemed too relaxed, too at ease with the whole situation. He didn't seem to care at all that Adam had killed his partner in crime. Was it all a trick to get him to lower his guard?
“You can go,” Adam said finally. “I won't stop you.”
He smiled, and tipped an imaginary hat to Adam. “Thank you, Mister Anders. I really do hate killing when I don't have to.” He walked back into the alley, towards a fire escape. “When Huntsman debriefs you, try and jazz me up a bit. Give me a cape or something.”
Chapter 19: IDENTIFICO
LAURA
Laura rubbed her forehead. Today was not going well. She had chosen to simply skip her classes in order to get more time for working with Clarke, but they weren't making much progress. The others were in a nearby room, mostly in case she needed help restraining a sleeper, but also so that Derek could yell at Ling. She had given them all a scare, disappearing like that. Now, of course, she was taking full advantage of Derek's attentions to drape herself all over him. That might change fast, though. He could get scary in full tongue-lashing mode.
Robyn handed Laura a coffee, and she thanked her with a nod. She really didn't have time to think about stupid Derek's love life. Everyone was alive, that was all that was important. Now on to the matter at hand.
The sleeper who had started the whole mess, Horace Warfield, was dead. They had a few other prisoners, but they weren't much more helpful than the corpse, since none of them remembered anything.
Laura glanced around and frowned. “Where'd your dad go?”
Robyn shrugged. “He said he had an idea for the heart and ran off. I don't think he'll be much more use on this project today.”
Laura sighed. Honestly, it was a miracle he had stayed this long. That man had the attention span of a goldfish.
At least he had left her one of his assistants. “Henry, tell them to bring in the next sleeper.” The tech nodded and walked out of the lab, past the room with Derek and the rest.
“Didn't they find a way to identify sleeper agents before?” Robyn asked, sipping her coffee. “When Malcanthet's started popping up, I mean.”
“Already tried something like that,” Laura said with a grumble. “However these are be
ing controlled, it's not through any drugs we can detect. That's how she always did it, so it's easier to test.” Laura could run some tests for a few masking agents just in case, but she wasn't sure it was worth the effort.
If Robyn had another idea, Laura never heard it, because they were interrupted by Jasmine Hannesdottir barging into the room.
Jasmine was the can ambassador, and one of the only can anthros in the city. Maybe the only one. There weren't very many cans in general, since people didn't really care about crabs all that much, so Jasmine was leader in all but name.
She was covered in an orange shell, thick and spiked, that hugged her body like a second skin. Her right hand was just covered in a thin shell, like she was wearing a gauntlet, but her left was replaced with a massive claw. Her lips were obscured by a collection of small mandibles, and two extra eyes on stalks slowly scanned the room.
“I'm sorry, madam dames,” Henry said, wringing his hands in guilt. “I couldn't stop her.” No doubt. He was completely baseline, and Hannesdottir was known for using that claw to snap people's heads off.
“Where is Butler?” she demanded in a surprisingly human voice, supporting Laura's theory that she still had her normal lips hidden under all the crab parts. “I need to speak with him immediately.”
“Calm down,” Laura said. “He's resting. Can I help you with anything?”
She looked Laura up and down in obvious disdain. Her main eyes were still normal, and thus easy to read. She tried to shove her aside in disdain with her mostly-human hand.
Laura ground her teeth, resisting the urge to scream. She was not good with physical contact, creepy toys notwithstanding. “What do you need?”
Hannesdottir realized she needed to actually pay attention. “And who are you supposed to be?”
“I'm Laura,” she said with all the patience she could muster. “One of the Paladins.”
Hannesdottir seemed to calm a little. “You'll do. I am here to speak about my father.”
“Knight Michael Johnsson has been sent back to his clan for a funeral,” Laura said, thankful that she had been forced to personally sign away his body after all. It had been an annoyance, but at least now she knew for sure what had happened. “I'm sure you can make any necessary arrangements with them.”
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