by C. M. Carney
“The world is going to shit,” Doc said.
“It’s always been shit, Doc.”
“True that.” Doc switched the channel to a soccer game.
The calm voice of the announcer melded with the task of cutting fruit, lulling Finn’s mind. His repetitive deftness with the knife eased the task into a meditative state. Once more, he pushed the world away. He didn’t look up when he heard the door open or the scrape of a stool, but he sensed the man sit in front of him. There was a whole bar, why did people always have to invade this one small haven?
“Hello, Finn,” a familiar voice said through a haze of pain. Finn gripped the knife harder, awareness surging to the fore. “Easy, buddy. I’m just here to deliver a message.”
Finn’s training took over and his eyes eased up. A haggard face surrounded the controlled smile of a man whose every aura suggested competence and ability. He was pale and hunched in pain. One hand hidden by the bar, Finn stared, eyes filled with demand.
Lex, is he transmitting? Finn silently asked his banner, the semi sentient artificial intelligence that shared his mind. Sometimes Finn was amazed at how quickly the public had become used to the idea of banner technology. Essentially banners were seriously advanced personal assistants akin to Siri or Alexa from decades before. But unlike those technologies, banners melded with the user’s nervous system. The old internet had been ill equipped to handle that level of bandwidth and had led to the invention of the lattice, an ever-present field of information.
Nope, no electronic signals of any kind. In fact, I’d say he’s put his banner into standby. He is not connected to the lattice, Lex responded. Finn wondered why Lex was more alive than his old Army issued banner.
Let me know if that changes.
Right-O.
“My banner is offline and I’m not recording or transmitting. But you already knew that.”
“Dalton,” Finn said, his grip tensing up on the knife. The gesture was pointless. If Dalton wanted him dead, he would be. This was something else. “How did you find me?”
“I’m just that good, kiddo.” A subtle shift in Finn’s eyes caused Dalton to lean back with a grunt of pain. The older man nodded and put both hands face up on the bar, showing Finn he meant no harm. It was a classic technique, and Finn knew he couldn’t trust it. “Don’t worry, I’m the only one who knows. I’m not here in an…official capacity.”
Finn’s eyes widened in shock when he saw the blood covering the man’s hands. A hurried and clinical examination told Finn that Dalton was in bad shape. Finn rushed around the bar and caught his old mentor as the older man slipped from the barstool.
“Doc,” Finn said in an urgent tone. Despite the alcohol fuzzing his mind, old training jumped to the fore of Doc’s mind. He leapt from his stool helping Finn. They eased Dalton onto the ragged couch near the pool table.
Doc knelt and pulled Dalton’s jacket aside, revealing a large wound in the man’s side. “Gunshot,” Doc said, “at least two.”
“Three,” Dalton bragged with humor before a coughing fit pulsed bloody foam from his mouth.
Lex lock the front door and activate the closed sign. And keep an eye on the external sensors. We may soon have company.
Sure thing, bud.
“Who shot you, Dalton?”
“Not the right question,” Dalton said with a wry smile. Finn flashed back to a time years ago when Finn was a newbie and Dalton assigned as his mentor. A day Finn now marked as the first step on the road that had led to his ruin.
He was recruited the day after his discharge from the Army, when Finn’s world was full of anger and regret. The discharge was classified as top secret. The Army wanted no details of the botched op getting out. Public sentiment against the war was already critical. The exposure of a massacre would have tipped the scales. To this day, Finn did not know how his last employers had known who he was, known he was available. Known he was willing and that he burned for the chance to make amends.
Forcing the memory back into the dark recesses of his mind, Finn asked the correct question. “Why are you here then?”
“Can’t an old friend pop in and say hi?” Dalton said with a grin, pleased that Finn knew the right question.
“We’re not friends.”
“That’s where you're wrong, pal. I may be the only friend you have left,” Dalton said, his grin buried under another fit of bloody coughing.
“Do you have a med kit?” Doc asked.
“Under the bar.” Finn indicated with a nod of his head.
Doc retrieved the kit and motioned for Finn to ease the wounded man back on the couch. “Grab me that knife,” Doc said.
“And your best whiskey.” Dalton smiled through gritted teeth.
Finn grabbed both. Doc snatched the knife and sliced Dalton’s shirt up the middle. The wounded man took a swig from the bottle Finn handed him. Doc opened the med kit and got to work on Dalton.
“I have a message.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Oh, you are. You just don’t know it yet.” He set the bottle onto the side table with a thump. He wiped an errant drop of whiskey from his lip, smearing a crimson streak across his face that gave him the visage of an insane clown.
“May I?” Dalton asked, his hand hovering over the pocket to his jacket. After a moment of locked eyes, Finn nodded. Dalton removed something from his jacket pocket. He extended his hand to Finn. A pulse drive rested on his palm.
“I’m not going back, Dalton.”
“It’s not from Central.”
“Who then?”
“Brynn.”
Finn’s eyes went wide and his hand snapped around the pulse drive. “Brynn?” he said without realizing he had spoken. He pulled his hand back and eased the drive into his pocket like a mother handling a newborn, all fear and gentleness.
Finn’s mind flashed to the last time he’d seen his sister. Misty eyed under the black umbrella as their father’s coffin was lowered into the ground. Brynn, always so kind, so sweet, and so brave. Alone in the world. Perhaps that is why he allowed her to see him. A moment of weakness. A moment of kindness. The guns were still echoing as Brynn excused herself from the small crowd. Feigning a desire to be alone, she found Finn sitting on a bench.
“I knew you were still alive,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Why did you leave?”
“I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Finn.”
“Tell that to the colonel,” Finn said, idly rubbing a spot on his chest. A spot marred by scar tissue.
Brynn held back a sob and took a small box from her purse. She handed it to Finn.
“What’s this?”
“Something to help you remember. Something to help you not be alone.”
With that, she had pecked him on the cheek, stood, and walked away.
Finn’s mind came back to the present. He pulled the pulse drive from his pocket and fear ate at his guts, twisting it harder than the worst bar rot scotch. What could scare Brynn enough for her to enlist Dalton’s aid? How did they even know each other?
Old training, deeply ingrained in his mind, took control. His mind analyzed the available data and one conclusion jumped to the fore. The colonel, Finn thought. He was still mucking up his children’s lives even from the grave.
“John,” Doc said with controlled alarm, “we need to get him to a hospital.”
Finn pulled himself from his thoughts and looked to Doc. The old surgeon’s eyes told Finn all he needed to know. Dalton didn't have long.
“It’s okay, kid. I always knew it could end this way,” Dalton said, “but maybe this will help wipe some of my ledger clean.”
Boss, we have company, Lex chimed in his mind. Four men, two teams of two. Back and front. Heavily armed.
Finn’s eyes hazed as he accepted the feed from Lex. Two men, armed with silenced, automatic rifles, took up positions on each side of the front door. A quick check told him there were two more at the back
door.
“We’ve got company. Four total. Two at the front. Two at the back.”
“Shit, I thought I’d ditched them.” Dalton grimaced as he attempted to rise.
Finn told Lex to dim the lights, then rushed to the bar and grabbed a hidden pistol. He returned to Dalton and Doc.
“Doc take this and lock yourself in the bathroom. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s okay.” He palmed the pulse drive into Doc’s hand.
“What if you don’t tell me it’s okay?”
Finn shrugged, and with a resigned nod, Doc rushed to the bathroom. Finn turned to Dalton. “You armed?”
Dalton pulled a pistol from his jacket and checked the magazine and safety. “Help me up.”
Finn eased Dalton to his feet. The man grunted in pain, but the old bastard was tough. Finn helped position Dalton behind the bar where he'd have some measure of protection. Finn then rushed to the gap between two antiquated stand-up video game consoles. He noted with a sense of irony that one involved shooting ducks with an orange plastic rifle. Hopefully, we won’t be the ducks, Finn thought.
3
They’re gonna breach, Lex said.
Finn accessed the external feed only to see one man raise his silenced weapon. A sharp flash and the feed turned to fuzz. The backdoor camera was down as well. Finn saw the men pull night vision rigs over their eyes. The darkness was not their ally.
Finn made eye contact with Dalton and held up four, then five fingers, hoping his estimation was right. He considered opening a direct channel to Dalton’s own banner AI but suspected the link was hacked. Time for old-fashioned methods.
He pointed to the lights and opened his hand like an expanding sun. Then indicated ten-seconds by pulsing his spread hand twice. Dalton nodded and aimed his pistol towards the door. Finn did the same, knowing the team at the back would need more time to reach the bar.
Finn’s mind counted down. The air was heavy with anticipation as the seconds passed. The dull thud of a focused explosion punched his ears as the door flew off its hinges. Several smoke canisters skittered into the room.
A moment later, shadowy forms moved through the door. Dalton opened fire with a quick three shot burst, and Finn heard a grunt of pain as one figure fell to the ground. Finn fired at the other target and earned another grunt of pain. Both attackers sought cover behind the host stand as smoke filled the entryway.
They’re wearing Mark IV tactical body armor, Lex said. Your weapons will just annoy them.
Mark IV tactical armor would easily block small-arms fire but had the appearance of a well-tailored suit. A standard issue for spec ops agents, high-end bodyguards, and anyone else who desired both protection and fashion.
I’d shoot them in the head. Boom, boom. Oh God, there are brains everywhere.
Keep the comments to a minimum Lex. And preferably keep them useful. Not for the first time, Finn wondered about his banner. Lex was a gift from Brynn. She’d warned him that Lex was different. Perhaps she knew her brother better than he knew himself. Maybe he’d needed the sarcastic dickhead AI to keep him engaged in life when he was close to giving up on it.
Early critics of banners raised fears that the technology could be used to alter people’s thoughts. The fear had long ago been debunked, but Finn couldn’t stop a thought from popping into his mind. He can’t read my thoughts, can he?
Finn’s mental countdown reached zero, and he hoped Dalton was ready. Finn squeezed his eyes shut and ordered Lex to power the lights up to maximum. A blazing surge banished the darkness. The sudden illumination was murder on Finn’s eyes, but the attackers fared much worse.
Triumph surged into Finn’s mind as he heard the surprised grunts. The pain caused the closest attacker to spasm, exposing his head. Finn squeezed the trigger three times fast and a bloody third eye welled up in the center of the man’s head, a posthumous gift of enlightenment to a man who no longer needed it.
The other attacker recovered quicker than Finn expected and opened fire. Finn dove behind the arcade machine. A torrent of bullets tore into the ancient tube monitor. Spouts of gas exploded with a pop. The wood frame of the machine provided crap cover. The gunshots grew closer as the second gunman advanced towards Finn’s position.
This won’t end well dude, Lex said.
Shut up, Finn ordered, but he knew his prick of a banner was right. He had a few seconds before he’d be dead. There was no way he could risk finding a clear shot with the rapid-fire bullets coming his way.
Dalton fired several quick shots from behind the bar, and the other attacker went down. Finn risked a look and saw another corpse draining onto the floor. He looked at Dalton and nodded. Dalton nodded back. A quick pop of silenced weapons fire announced the second team had entered the fray. Dalton fell with a scream.
Finn spun, found his target and shot quick, timed bursts. Time slowed as it always did for him. One of his shots hit the attacker in the neck and the man fell in a spurt of blood. But Finn was now exposed, and the other attacker opened fire. He dove behind the half-wall that separated the main bar from the walkway to the bathrooms. A bullet took him shoulder as he fell. His head smacked against the wall and stars shot through his vision. With a grunt of pain, Finn assessed the damage.
Just a flesh wound, Lex said.
Didn’t I tell you to be quiet? But Finn had to agree with his irritating banner’s opinion.
I thought you were being rhetorical.
More bullets tore into the wall above Finn’s head, and he rolled and leaned around the wall’s edge firing blindly. Volleys fired with neither party hitting the other. But Finn understood his enemies’ tactic. Finn was nearly out of bullets.
Lex, show me the feed from the register camera.
Now you feel like talking, Lex said, but the camera feed popped into Finn’s vision. It wasn't designed to show the bar, but rather to make sure the shady folks Finn hired weren’t ripping him off. It was pointing towards the register, but a blur of motion reflected by the filthy mirror behind the register showed Finn the enemies’ location. I need to clean the glass more often, Finn thought and chuckled grimly. He knew regardless of what happened next that his days of tending bar were over.
Finn sprinted towards the man’s position, using his last few rounds to lay down cover fire. The bullets forced the attacker to hide inside the door to the unused kitchen. Finn knew his plan to rush an enemy without ammo was insane, but he didn't see any other option.
As the man’s rifle emerged once again from behind the door, Finn grabbed the barrel with his free hand and twisted it away from him. The rifle fired. Vibrations surged up Finn's arm, and the agony in his wounded shoulder forced him to release the rifle.
Finn smashed the butt of his pistol into the man's face. The crunch of bone was muted by the man’s scream. Finn wrenched the gun from the man’s hands. Finn was shocked the man still stood, and outright stunned when he smashed a forearm into the side of Finn’s head, dropping Finn to one knee. The gun fell from his hand and skittered under a nearby table.
The man grinned in triumph as he pulled a combat knife from a sheath at his waist and stabbed at Finn. Desperate, Finn thrust his left hand upward, and the knife pierced his palm. Finn screamed as the blade emerged from the back of his hand, midway between his middle and index fingers.
The man pushed, and with his better leverage, the knife crept closer to Finn’s face, becoming his entire world. Within moments, it was hovering mere inches from his left eye. In a desperate motion, Finn moved to the left and pummeled his right forearm into the side of the man’s knee. The knee buckled with a wet crunch. The man collapsed with a grunt.
Finn brought his right hand up, palm to the fleshy part of the man’s wrist. Another snap and the man lost his grip on the knife. Finn yanked the combat blade from his hand. Before he could bring it to bear on his enemy, the other man knocked it from his hand.
His opponent twisted and rolled, drawing Finn into a pincer between his legs. Finn punched at the man’s i
njured knee drawing grunts of pain but little relief. Finn was suffocating and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He was about to die, and Brynn still needed him.
Dude, you forgot you have a knife on your hip, didn’t you? Lex said.
Finn’s oxygen deprived brain almost didn’t believe it was Lex. Was it his subconscious? His pain in the ass banner wouldn’t jest about his imminent death, would he?
Finn struggled to reach the sheath at his waist. The bar knife wasn’t the best weapon, but it was pointy and sharp and he’d used worse. He brought his knee up and into his assailant’s kidneys. The man grinned down at him, thinking Finn was flailing as he neared death. But a few hits to the man’s side moved the man enough to allow Finn to finger the knife free.
With one last burst of energy, Finn impaled the man through the ear. The violent power behind the thrust snapped the handle off, leaving seven inches of metal lodged in the man’s head.
A look of shock crossed the man’s face as his muscles went slack and his legs released Finn’s neck. A coughing fit racked Finn’s body as air rushed back into his lungs and awareness returned to his brain. He lay for a few moments recovering before he remembered he wasn’t alone.
“Dalton?” he called in a hoarse voice. Nothing.
He got to his feet and hobbled to the bar. He found Dalton face down. A jagged exit wound had torn apart his shoulder and blood flowed freely. He turned him over, relieved at the moan of pain from his old mentor. His eyes opened, and with returning consciousness came pain.
“Fuck me,” the old warrior grumbled. Finn found the entry wound low on his left shoulder, between the collarbone and his heart. Finn was no medical expert, but he’d seen enough gunshot wounds to know this one was fatal.