Paradox Slaughter

by Jake Bible

  “Are you going to tell me why?” Bishop asked before picking up the napkin. He folded it and placed it into his pants pocket. “Seriously, Roak, what is this all about?”

  “You’re jamming the comm which means transmission won’t get to you,” Roak said. “The trigger needs to be line of sight. Microwave would be my guess. Point at your chest, press a button, and your heart explodes.”

  “How do you know that?” Bishop asked.

  “I was trained to use the same things when I was young,” Roak said. “Standard procedure with an informant, asset, hostage, whatever captive we needed to exploit, but couldn’t afford to let leave alive.”

  “Roak, they said they’d take it out once I was done here,” Bishop said and patted his chest. “This baby comes out tonight or tomorrow.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Roak said. “You’re a dead man sitting there, you just don’t know it. I was hoping I’d be wrong which is why I asked if you could fight.”

  “You asked because you need me to fight,” Bishop said. “Right?”

  “Nah, I got this,” Roak said and stood up. Bishop started to stand too, but Roak shook his head. “Stay there. Relax. When it happens, do not fight it. You’re going to freak, but it’ll all work out, so don’t freak. What was that thing you say?”

  “Stay calm. Keep your cool. Do not provoke.”

  “That. Keep saying that until you’re in the clear.”

  “How am I going to know I’ll be in the clear?” Bishop asked, looking pale and alarmed. “Roak? What’s about to happen to me?”

  “A life debt,” Roak said. “Sorry. Thirty-five million and change in chits just wasn’t enough for me.”

  Roak smirked and patted Bishop on the shoulder.

  “I’m kidding,” Roak said and turned to face the kitchen. “Come on out. Time to get this over with.”

  Bishop started to argue then a yellow blur whipped through the diner and Bishop was gone.

  The doors to the kitchen burst open and ten beings dressed head to toe in black came streaming out. They were armed with seriously deadly looking melee weapons. No firearms of any kind. Blades of various sizes, axes, clubs, maces, pikes and spears. Each being had a weapon in each hand.

  “Roak,” they said in unison.

  Roak closed his eyes, shook his head, then opened his eyes as the group moved towards him. He pulled his Keplar knife from his belt and activated it.

  “I wasn’t kidding when I said the town needed to get a refund from the contractor,” Roak said as he held the blade up so everyone could see it. “The idiot forgot about these little guys.”

  The black-clad beings rushed at Roak. Roak rushed at the black-clad beings.

  30.

  Ducking under a swipe from a dual-bladed axe that was almost as large as the being wielding it, Roak slashed with his Keplar, singeing black material. The material smoked briefly then repaired itself as Roak continued the attack with a backswing, slicing the same spot before slamming a fist up into the masked chin of the attacker.

  The woman cried out as teeth shattered and green blood spewed from between her lips, darkening the mouth slit of the mask. Roak thrust himself upright and the top of his head nailed the same spot on the woman’s chin as his fist. There was the distinct sound of cracking bone then the woman was slumping over Roak’s shoulder. He lifted and spun her about, catching her axe as it fell from her slack grip.

  Three black-clads were bringing their long blades down at Roak’s back, but he angled himself so the unconscious woman on his shoulder took the brunt of their attack. She screamed as the pain of the blades cutting through her suit and into the bright green of her flesh woke her. Then the scream died away and she followed with it.

  Roak hurled the corpse at the three black-clads then turned to fend off two others as the three were forced to stumble back against an empty booth, their comrade dead at their feet, her blood smeared across their black suits.

  The dual-bladed axe sliced through the air, creating a whooshing and whistling as it flew into the side of the head of one of the new black-clads that Roak engaged. A smell hit Roak’s nose, but he ignored it. No time to hunt mystery stenches. Roak tried to pry the axe free, but it was lodged in bone, so he shoved the man at the black-clad behind him then leapt onto the nearest table as a spiked chain shredded the floor where he’d been standing.

  Roak kicked out with his right leg, his boot grazing the temple of the chain-wielding black-clad. But it was only a graze and the black-clad kept his composure, bringing his spiked chain back up and whipping it out at Roak’s face. Bending and arching backward, Roak watched the spiked chain slice through the air over his face then embed itself into the diner’s wall. Roak grabbed the spiked chain, his light armor gloves protecting him as he straightened up and pulled hard on the spiked chain. The black-clad let go of the weapon, sending Roak off balance at the force of his yank.

  Stumbling across the table, his back ramming into the diner’s wall, Roak wasn’t able to dodge the long blade that cut the air and hit him in the right shoulder, slicing a good chunk of light armor away, as well as a decent portion of Roak’s flesh. Roak tried to twist away, but the blade was sunk in too well.

  Roak shouted, turned, and threw four hard, fast, effective jabs into the black-clad’s mask. The sound of a nose breaking and then the gurgling of the being suddenly choking on his own blood made Roak smile. He hit the guy again for good measure then buried his Keplar in the black-clad’s belly.

  The material of the being’s suit tried to repair itself, but the burning blade of the energy knife prevented that, so in addition to the gurgling coming from the man’s throat, there was a constant sizzling from his abdomen.

  The black-clad fell backward into the booth he stood in, taking Roak’s Keplar knife with him. Roak grimaced, but made do as he pulled the long blade from his shoulder, a spray of bright blood following the arc of the blade. Before Roak could assess the damage to his shoulder, or turn to face the next attacker, a black-clad thrust a spear at his midsection. Roak tucked to the side and the spear tip only nicked his light armor, but the black-clad was fast and he had the spear pulled back and thrusting again before Roak could parry. The spear tip hit the same spot, but made it through the light armor that time. Roak grunted as his flesh split just above his left hip.

  Then the black-clad’s head split open as Roak brought his left arm down as hard and fast as he could, the long blade slicing through the being’s mask then scalp then skull then brains. A putrid stink wafted up and Roak tried not to gag at the smell. He kicked the dead being away and recognized the stink as the same smell that came from the head of the black-clad that was lying on the floor with the axe in its skull.

  “Hessa,” Roak said as he dodged a mace that came for his knees. “Hessa!”

  “Here, Roak,” Hessa replied. “They’re trying to jam the comm, but I was able to figure out the frequency that is used in Bishop to counteract the jamming. I don’t know how long I can keep the comm open, though. The modulations are quite tricky.”

  “Don’t care about tricky!” Roak yelled.

  He jumped over another mace swing then stabbed the tip of the long blade into the black-clad’s left eye. There was a pop and a splurt then yellow pus was oozing down the being’s mask.

  “That comm signature I called,” Roak said, leaping from his table to the table in the booth to his left. His hip screeched at him to stop moving, and his shoulder was pouring blood down his almost useless right arm, but Roak shoved all pain from his mind as he blocked an attack from another black-clad with a spear. “Call it, connect to me, and keep the comm open. I want her to hear this.”

  “Roak? Uh, how will hearing you fight be of any help? She won’t see what is happening,” Hessa replied.

  “She’ll know from the sounds,” Roak said. “So just do it!”

  “Doing it. Calm down,” Hessa said.

  “Calm down,” Roak scoffed, blocking another spear attack and another.

 
The table rocked under him and Roak realized one of the black-clads had slid across the floor to get beneath the table. The half meter of steel that came up through the table top between his legs proved that. Roak tried to sidekick the blade and break it with his boot, but it was yanked back and thrust up into a different spot before he could connect.

  Pain exploded in Roak’s right boot and he risked a quick look down to see steel protruding from the top of his foot. Roak tucked the pain away in his mind to be dealt with later and lifted his foot up hard and fast. The blade made a scraping noise as it grated against one of the bones in Roak’s foot.

  “She’s on,” Hessa stated.

  “Good,” Roak said as he leapt backward, slamming his back into the diner wall as two axes came down where his feet had been.

  The table split and Roak leapt onto the top of the next booth back then over onto that table then kept going from booth back to table to booth back to table until he was in a new corner of the diner.

  Roak gripped the long blade with his left hand and tested the strength of his right hand. He could barely make a fist.

  “Roak,” Reck’s voice echoed in the comm. There was static and a good amount of interference, but Roak could hear her. “Having some trouble?”

  “They smell,” Roak said.

  Then the six black-clads left rushed Roak as one unit. No more one on one, or two on one, or three on one. It was six on one and axes, blades, spears, and maces came for him.

  “Smell?” Reck asked. “Never mind. You’re busy.”

  Roak ran the short length of the table and threw himself into the air, spinning sideways, his long blade arcing down at the neck of the closest black-clad. The being’s head was severed and went flying against the head of the black-clad next to him. Roak’s light armor split across the chest as a spear tip ran the width of it. Then Roak was down on the entire group and everyone went sprawling in all directions.

  “Coming at you from behind,” Reck said.

  Roak, bleeding from more places than he would have liked, lifted his long blade and blocked a downward hack of an axe. Rolling to his right, and nearly passing out as his split shoulder was ground into the diner’s floor, Roak slid the long blade up the axe’s handle, shearing off the fingers of the hands holding it. The black-clad screamed and stumbled back, her fingerless hands spurting black blood high into the air.

  Roak helicopter-kicked and twisted his body up and into a crouch as a long blade came down where his head had been.

  “Wrong move,” Reck said.

  A boot met Roak’s face as the owner of the blade side-kicked him in the head. The kick was hard enough that Roak saw stars and distinctly felt a vertebrae in his neck fracture. Possibly two vertebrae from the blinding white pain that shot up through Roak’s skull and down his spine.

  Roak let go of his long blade and wrapped his left hand around the boot as it was withdrawn. Twisting with all his strength, and drawing more strength as he channeled his pain and agony into his muscles, the black-clad’s ankle snapped. The black-clad spun into the attack and rolled to the side, pulling his demolished ankle out of Roak’s grip, sending Roak off balance and falling forward.

  “Gonna lose your head,” Reck said.

  Roak tucked his chin and felt the sting of a blade scrape the back of his scalp. The sting was replaced by the warmth of free-flowing blood, but Roak didn’t have time to check and see how bad the wound was. He was rolling forward, grabbing the long blade as he went. Coming back up into a crouch, Roak spun on his heel and brought the blade up in time to keep from having his skull split down the middle.

  Roak was nearly face to face with a black-clad. The eyes went from a dull black to a burning red.

  “You have gotten much better,” a voice said from behind the mask despite the black-clad’s jaw not moving at all. “Impressive.”

  Roak shoved the blade away and kept the forward motion of his left hand, turning his long blade so the butt of the weapon’s hilt slammed into the space between the black-clad’s red eyes. It had almost no effect. The head snapped back briefly, but whipped upright without the red eyes even blinking.

  Roak hit the same spot again and that knocked the black-clad onto his ass.

  A low chuckling came from behind the mask as Roak scrambled backward and forced himself to get up onto his feet. Roak faced the black-clads left, counting five still alive, but one was slumped across a table, her hands still leaking blood from where her fingers used to be, and another was only on one stable leg as the other was held up, the foot dangling from a mangled ankle.

  Three real threats. Roak sneered at them all.

  “Can’t help you now,” Reck said over the comm. “It’s going to move too fast.”

  “I know,” Roak replied.

  “Do you?” the red-eyed black-clad responded.

  “Not talking to you,” Roak snapped.

  “Is that so?” red eyes said. “Who are you talking to? That AI partner of yours? Bishop? No. Not Bishop. He’s dead. I exploded his heart inside his chest. I should have placed a holo cam in there to catch the image. What does an exploding heart look like when it blows up inside one’s chest? Science wants to know, Roak. Science wants to know.”

  “Not dead,” Hessa interrupted.

  “Good,” Roak said.

  “Good? Oh, yes, you are speaking to your AI again,” red eyes said. Then the black-clad head was cocked to the side. “And someone else…? Is that little sister or big sister that you are chatting with?”

  Roak froze. His mind went numb for just a brief second before he shook off the confusion.

  Red eyes grinned and even behind the black mask it was easy to see that the grin stretched way farther than the anatomy of the being would have liked. Roak wasn’t for sure, but he thought he heard the distinct sound of flesh tearing. Then he saw the blood stains seeping through the mask and was for sure that was what he heard.

  Watching the three black-clads, including red eyes, Roak strategized his move. Red eyes was straight on, about three meters away, the being’s backside close to one of the tables. The other two black-clads were only two meters away, each taking a side, making sure Roak didn’t have any space to maneuver in.

  Left, right, or straight ahead, bloody steel waited for Roak.

  “I have good news,” Hessa said.

  “Is it good news that will help me out of this shit?” Roak asked.

  Red eyes laughed. The two other black-clads waited while the fingerless black-clad moaned across one of the tables and the broken ankle black-clad rested his back against a wall, eyes on Roak.

  “I hacked the town’s defense system,” Hessa said. “All of your weapons are no longer locked. You are free to fire away, Roak.”

  Roak smiled.

  “Oh, you were given good news,” red eyes said. “May I ask what has you smiling so, Roak?”

  “Let me show you,” Roak said and pulled his Flott.

  31.

  The pistol threw lasers around the diner like energy streamers at a birthday celebration.

  The two black-clads standing to the right and left of Roak had their chests ripped open by the energy beams. Smoke billowed up from the wounds as they fell to their knees. Roak squeezed the trigger again and their heads were pierced, sending them both falling backward, their legs bent under them like they were in the middle of a yoga pose when they died.

  Red eyes dodged the laser bolts that came at him, but fingerless took a shot to the back of her skull. A thin wisp of smoke swirled up from the wound as the body slowly slid off the table and onto the floor.

  Broken ankle came at Roak fast, catching the bounty hunter off guard. Roak turned to fire, but his Flott was knocked from his grip and clattered useless to the floor. Broken ankle’s fists hit Roak in the gut then in the face then back to the gut, doubling him over. Roak managed to block a knee to his face, but couldn’t block the fist to the back of his head.

  Down on the floor, Roak went for the Blorta on his left ankle. He p
ulled it free and aimed up without looking. Roak squeezed the trigger and kept it depressed, telling the pistol to auto fire until empty. There was a gasp then a heavy weight collapsed across Roak’s back, flattening him into the floor.

  Roak managed to shove up and knock the corpse free just as a boot connected with his chin. It sent him reeling to the side and he cried out as his right shoulder slammed into the side of a booth. Grunting and struggling to get back to his feet, Roak’s head rocked to the side as a fist nailed him in the cheekbone. Then the pistol was kicked from his grip and it clattered across the floor, coming to rest in a pool of blood.

  “Stay right there,” red eyes said.

  Roak didn’t have much choice in the matter as spots swam before his eyes.

  Red eyes crouched low, easily within Roak’s reach. But that meant Roak was easily within red eyes’ reach too. A finger was jabbed under Roak’s nose.

  “You,” red eyes said. “You betrayed me, so I thought we’d have some fun. It took me a long time to rebuild, but I did, and when I was confident I was at full strength, I decided to show you how it feels to truly be betrayed.”

  Red eyes flicked the tip of Roak’s nose and stood up. Roak rested against the side of the booth seat and watched the black-clad figure pivot and walk away, taunting Roak with his unprotected back. Roak knew a setup when he saw one, so he remained still and let the being talk.

  “The problem with you, Roak, and this has always been the problem with you, is that you are a loner,” red eyes said, still walking away. The being reached the diner’s short counter and he took a seat on one of the stools, swiveling around to face Roak once again. “How is one betrayed when he has no trust in other beings and has no one close to him?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Roak said once red eyes was fully seated on the stool.

  “I will,” red eyes said and wagged a finger. “While you kept everyone in your life at arm’s length, you were only human.” Red eyes laughed at that statement. “You know what I mean. But the reality was that no matter how much you worked at closing yourself off, living beings have to make some type of connection in life or what is the point of continuing to exist?”