by C. M. Carney
“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. He 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
T hey'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 back door 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 door 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 focussed 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 are wearing Mark IV tactical body armor, Lex said. Your weapons will just annoy them.
Mark IV tactical armor would easily blocked 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 grunt of pain. 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. T
here 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 filthy mirror, but a blur in the reflection 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 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 the man with no ammo was insane, but he didnt 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 thrust downwards towards 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 injured 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, 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 combat armor moved the man enough to allow Finn to finger the knife free.
With one last burst of energy Finn impaled the man though 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 wracked 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.
“You’re going to be okay,” Finn said.
“Liar,” Dalton said with a bitter chuckle that spit up blood. “Did we get them at least?”
“We did,” Finn said, sadness staining his voice. “Who were they Dalton?”
“Mercs. Contractors hired by Sacrosanct.”
“Sacrosanct? That’s where Brynn works.” Panic ate at Finn. “What is going on? Where is Brynn?”
“I don’t know. Nobody has seen her, or the rest of the Pantheon in months.”
“Pantheon?”
A bitter laugh rumbled from Dalton. “Yeah, that’s what they call themselves. Alistair Bechard and his cronies who run Sacrosanct. Pretentious assholes if you ask me. It’s as if they think they’re gods.”
“Dalton, you’re not making any sense.”
“I’m dying kid, so shut up and listen. Do you know what the Realms is?”
“Some kinda game or something. What does this have to do with Brynn? Or this,” Finn said, waving his hand around the bar turned war zone.
“Brynn suspected something was off with the Realms and brought me in to help.”
“How do you two even know each other?” Finn’s mind raced to find any source of contact. He could conceive of none. Finn had made sure not to mix his two lives.
Dalton laughed at Finn’s puzzled expression. “Man you’re a naïve dullard. Did you think you were the only one your father recruited?”
Shock pummeled Finn. “Brynn worked for Dad? I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it.”
“Your father had tendrils everywhere kid. I’m one scary dude, and your old man terrified the shit out of me.”
Finn’s mind pushed aside the shock and refocused. “Where is Brynn?”
“I told you nobody knows. Last I knew she was going into the Realms. She told me to find you and give you the pulse drive. Took me six months. Guess I trained you too well.”
Mention of the pulse drive brought Doc rushing back into Finn’s awareness. “Doc,” Finn yelled. “Doc, I need your help.”
“It’s too late. You need to find Brynn.” Dalton said, his eyes glazing. “Did you know I’m her godfather? I don’t think even she knows that.” Dalton’s eyes went blank and he was gone.
Shock pummeled Finn’s mind. None of this made sense. Doc shoved him aside and performed CPR on Dalton. After a few minutes Doc gave up. Doc spoke to him, but Finn did not hear. His world was a swirling vortex of muddled confusion.
Doc slapped Finn hard across the face and Finn was back. He looked from Doc to Dalton as reality came rushing back. “Doc?”
“I’m sorry, he’s dead.” A look of sympathy crossed his face.
Finn looked down upo
n his old mentor, a man he both loved and loathed. “I don’t understand any of this,” Finn mumbled.
“That makes two of us Finn,” Doc said with a stare.
Doc had used his real name. Finn looked up. "That’s a long story Doc. One you’re better off not knowing."
Doc looked around the bar. “I believe you. This has the look of one of those I’d have to kill you if I told you situations.”
“Something like that. I wouldn’t know where to start, anyway.”
“Let’s start with an introduction. I’m Percy Winkelvoss.” Doc extended his hand.
Finn gave Doc a sideways glance and reached out and shook Doc’s hand. The man had the firm and steady grip of a surgeon, despite the alcoholism that had destroyed his life.
“Finn, Finn Caldwell.”
“Nice to meet you, Finn.”
“Same.” A few seconds passed in silence as Finn looked down on Dalton. “Now I know why you go by Doc.”
Doc harrumphed. “Yeah, thanks Ma and Pa Winkelvoss. Lean back and let me have a look at those wounds.”
At the mention of his wounds the pain rushed back. Finn’s adrenaline surge had worn off and with it came pain. He eased back against a beer cooler with a grimace. Doc tended to the wound in Finn’s shoulder first.
“Through and through on the shoulder. That's good. I’ll stitch it up, but your range of motion will suck for a few weeks.”
He removed a suture wand from the med kit and closed the wound with polymer staples. They leaked anti-inflammatory and antibiotic drugs into his body. In a few days, when they had done their job, they would melt away.
Next Doc examined his hand. Again, the damage was muscular not structural. His hand would also be useless for a few weeks.
His ministrations finished Doc pulled the pulse drive from his pocket and handed it to Finn. “I hope it’s worth all this death,” Doc said with a sigh.
“It never is Doc.”
“I’m gonna go hit the head. Too much excitement is no bueno for my old bladder.”