Blackjack Dead or Alive (The Blackjack Series Book 3)

by Ben Bequer

  It took a moment for my vision to clear, and when it did, Apogee knelt over me. Her hair was an unkempt snag of tangles, and a welt was blossoming to a full bruise on her jaw. Her lips were thin with worry, and I noticed her outline was shifting in a pattern similar to Alacrity’s. She was still moving at super speed herself. She must have hit Alacrity at her maximum velocity, her own vibrational pattern disrupting the other. All that remained of Apogee’s nemesis was a small puddle of pinkish goo surrounded by ash and small tufts of blond hair.

  “Bitch got what she wanted,” Madelyne muttered.

  As she slowed down, I turned onto my side and hacked up a wad of blood. I wiped at my nose and mouth, and my hand came away slathered in wet crimson. My insides felt mealy, but I was breathing and I could move. I got to my hands and knees, but had trouble standing. Apogee’s calloused hand rubbed my back, a salve that made the pain manageable.

  “Come on,” she said, her voice hollow and distant. “Let’s finish it.”

  I stood, ignoring the groan and protest from my body, and found my doppelganger and Silverback had Epic on the defensive. The gorilla had abandoned technique and fallen into a berserker rage, roaring as he hurled punches at Epic, his deep red eyes glowing in the dim room. Each hairy fist struck with the force of a nuclear weapon; beating against the hero’s muscles with shots so powerful they emitted sonic booms as the air rushed to escape the vacuum. Blackjack 2.0 was the weaker of the two enemies, but he was circling behind Epic and throwing choice shots at his neck and back. He fired a nasty kick at the back of Epic’s legs and brought the big man to a knee.

  “Leave him alone,” I boomed, taking a painful step forward. They complied, holding their assault, and favoring me with almost comical wonder. Silverback’s eyes flared down, and he shook his head as if clearing it.

  “You and me,” I said, pointing at my doppelganger. “Right now.”

  He stepped away from Epic, who took the moment to catch his breath. The big gorilla turned towards me as well, but begged off at a look from Blackjack 2.0. Nodding, Silverback propelled himself at Epic, who was waiting to engage the monster, the short rest doing more for him than it had for me.

  Apogee eyed me, words on the edge of her lips when I heard a crackle of energy from behind. I hadn’t started reacting to the sound before she had moved us both to a new spot fifteen feet from where we had stood. The violent shift did bad things to my equilibrium, fresh nausea fighting its way into the grab bag of ailments I was dealing with. A red whip scored the grass we had occupied; a dozen more headed our way as Bloodstrike’s power dappled the air between us.

  “I got her,” Apogee said. “Take care of your double.”

  My head bobbed in a lank, facsimile nod that she smiled at, kicking up a small cloud of dirt and debris as she ran at Bloodstrike. The gust of wind she left in her wake caressed me, my flame kissed skin a little too sensitive to the temperature change to really enjoy it.

  Blackjack walked toward me, and only as he came closer did I notice the swarm of camera drones surrounding him, filming every possible angle. Others buzzed about, catching the other villains and heroes fight, but the majority centered on Blackjack 2.0.

  “Haha,” I wondered aloud, and then one of the cameras spun around, giving me access to a small video screen. It crackled and a second later, I saw the robot rabbit’s form appear. It was a 3-D representation, not an actual filmed robot, but the twisted smile and the rotten, dirty fur were unmistakable.

  “Hello, Blackjack,” he said. “It’s finally time to settle the matter of which Blackjack is worthy, and which one will be dead.”

  I took long, cleansing breaths as Blackjack 2.0 approached. I could tell from his easy saunter that fighting with Epic hadn’t taxed him. Silverback had been doing the heavy lifting from what I had seen, while my doppelganger held back, waiting for me. He could easily have peppered me with arrows as he closed the distance. They wouldn’t have been more than a nuisance, but it might have given him an edge, but the bow and quiver had been discarded. He wanted to hit me. He looked spry and loose.

  I could only imagine what I looked like.

  With about ten feet separating us, he charged, putting on a burst of speed I would have had trouble replicating, but I lowered my head and ran at him. I planned to use the rocket boots and ram him when he made his move, but he leapt at me, throwing his left hip out and powering a strong kick at my midsection.

  It caught me by surprise, I hadn’t expected the same tactics from this duplicate. I backpedaled and circled to my left as he landed, spun, and swung a wide-sweeping reverse kick with his right leg that I barely avoided by taking another step back. He hurled himself in the air, spinning as he did and extended his left leg in a powerful kick that caught my shoulder and hurled me across the room. I jumped to my feet as fast as I could, but he was on me, and I had to dive away from a kick that would have scored me into the net from 30 meters. He whooshed past me and my first blow missed, a back fist designed to take his head off.

  He rolled lithely to his feet, and we circled each other. I labored for breath, my lungs refusing to fill to capacity, but he seemed unbothered by his exertion. Moving on the balls of his feet, Blackjack 2.0 embodied power and grace in a way I never dreamed possible. My instinct was to rush him, put hands on him, and let it get ugly, but he was ready for it. I could see it in the set of his shoulder and hips. He was squared, ready for me to be stupid. I had to wait him out, be patient. It took effort, but I checked to him.

  Blackjack 2.0 charged in with a straight kick that I side-stepped, walking into a spinning reverse kick that caught me flush in the chest and sent me stumbling back. I almost lost my footing, but he didn't relent firing another kick that I managed to block. He followed up with a sidekick to my midsection that knocked me off my feet and left me momentarily breathless. I rolled away, coughing as I came to my feet, and he paused, standing on a mound of rubble and looking down on me. This was easy for him.

  But why all the kicking? It was the same in Amsterdam until I got him up close. The guy was really good with the kicks, sure, but I wasn't – and he was supposed to be a copy of me. Maybe he wasn't up to close range at first. His blows were nothing I hadn't felt a million times. If others were to be believed, I could punch as hard as Epic - so he was keeping his distance. He'd done the same in our first fight.

  "Fancy kicks," I said. "Blackjack doesn't kick like a bitch."

  I beckoned him closer. He dove at me, extending his right knee, pushing me a step back, creating the space he need to power his left foot into my face. The powerful kick staggered me a step, but I dug in and got ready for the follow-up. Blackjack 2.0 didn't hesitate, spinning in the air and hurling a flying sidekick at my midsection. I stepped aside - the move Apogee had taught me with one slight modification. I didn't half-shuffle off and kick back. Instead, I dove in and caught his leg as he was about to recoil for a follow-up, I dug my other arm under his crotch and spun. Blackjack 2.0 weighed a ton, easily as heavy as an M-1 Abrams tank, and I struggled to pick him up, but the leverage I generated with my hips and back helped me finish the move.

  He soared through the air, striking the wall with so much force; he broke through in an explosion of dust and rock, obscured from me in a second.

  It wasn’t that he was heavy, I realized, he was draining me. I thought back to Amsterdam, when the other guy had turned the fight on me by draining my strength. It was subtle, but I could feel the difference now that we weren’t in proximity. I found a large piece of fallen masonry, a huge block of 3D printed concrete that must've weighed a couple of tons. I lifted it without difficulty, and threw it at the spot where Blackjack 2.0 had ended up, the projectile mushrooming into a hailstorm of debris when it struck.

  "Hey, Epic," I said as the big guy drove a fist into Silverback’s solar plexus. Their fight wasn’t as dynamic as mine, and by the looks of the crater hollowing under their feet, it looked like they had settled for a straight-up slugfest. "How much do you weigh?"
r />   His head pivoted towards me in surprise, "What do you want to know that for?"

  "I need to know," I said. Silverback tried to take advantage of Epic’s distraction, bringing both down his arms like paired wrecking balls. Epic blocked the attack with his forearms, but was driven back a step. Silverback tried to replicate the move, but Epic was faster than I ever accounted for, lashing out with a savage jab that collided with a dull thud across the gorilla’s prominent jaw, following with a cross that drove both of them a foot deeper into the crater.

  "About 350, I guess," Epic said.

  I'd picked the hero and thrown him around before, so I had a good gauge of his weight. Most of us big guys were heavy – in the case of Epic excessively so – but none of us were more than a ton or so. Even the really big guys like Silverback or Primal. I doubted the gorilla weighed more than a few thousand pounds. Yet Blackjack 2.0 felt like he weighed twenty times that. That could only mean one thing: Blackjack 2.0 was a suit.

  "Tricky, tricky, Haha," I said, knowing his cameras were around, watching and recording everything. "You cheat like you always have. You can't just play it straight with me can you?"

  One of the floating drones moved toward the edge of my vision - it was the one with the video display of the rabbit head - but I stared straight at Blackjack 2.0.

  "Bad form, Dale," he said in his psychotic game show host voice. "Giving away secrets like that. You keep them inside, make your play; you don't rub them in the face of your opponent."

  Through the particulate haze, I saw a shadow emerge, my duplicate, shedding remnants of rubble both mountainous and synthetic. He came slowly at first then charged at me, the pebbles and dust billowing from him as blue-white fire blazed from his boots. Haha’s version of my Asskickers was much more precise, the thrust more controlled. The angle was flawless, and Blackjack 2.0 swiveled in flight, intent on ending the fight in one shot.

  Blocking everything else out, I waited, zeroed in on the hip, the leg, the foot. I wasn’t fast or skilled, but if there was something archery taught you, it was focus. I waited until he was a foot from my face, wrapping my mitts around his leg and reversing my wrist, bringing Blackjack 2.0 in an arc over my head and slamming him into the ground with a solid whack. Whipping my arms ruthlessly, I pelted him into the ground again and again. I stopped when I heard a crack, the sound of twigs snapping, and my duplicate lay still.

  Letting go of the leg, I bent at the waist, breathing in hard gasps, sweating in thick rivulets that raced down my hairless scalp, stinging the various abrasions that dotted my face like islands on a map.

  “You replaced me with a clown in a suit,” I beamed. “That was the best you could do? He’s not looking so great now, is he?”

  “You must think I’m lazy or stupid,” Haha said. “Did you really think I would send someone to kill you who couldn’t take a beating? It’s the only tactic you employ.”

  I heard movement in front of me, Blackjack 2.0 regaining his feet. There was no wobble to his step, no sway in his gait. He had taken a breather and stood up, seeming no worse for wear. His mask was still in place, and though the armor was dented and scuffed, looked intact. He made a show of working the kinks out of his arms and shoulders, limbering up for the next round.

  Without realizing it, I had backed away from my namesake.

  "Not so cocky now, are you?" Haha said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

  I knuckled up, "Fuck it, we do it old school."

  Blackjack 2.0 switched his stance, his right foot coming forward, his left sliding back, standing on the balls of his feet. He was going to kick me again. I stepped in, fists tucked in under my chin and saw him shift back and throw a straight kick. Closing my guard, I took it hard against my forearms. My entire body compressed against the devastation, but I had leaned into it, attacking like Apogee had taught me, and threw a killer left hook that pulverized every air molecule in the space between us but missed his face. This close, I saw his eyes through the tinted goggles, cold and impassive.

  I didn’t think twice, following up with a left jab that he took on the shoulder, my right cross lined up before the left retracted. It connected with a satisfying crack, the armor shuddering with the impact. He flew from me, sluicing into the ground after a few yards and tumbling in a heap until the wall stopped him short, bent into a question mark, his legs curved awkwardly over his torso.

  "Your boy isn't up for the-" I paused. Bloodstrike stood over Apogee, a thin lash of dark crimson wrapped around her neck. There was a faint glow surrounding Bloodstrike, and though she struggled, I knew Apogee was on borrowed time. Reveling in her victory, Bloodstrike spread her arms wide, as if preparing to ingest Apogee whole. The glow intensified and Apogee’s efforts faltered.

  I engaged the rocket boots and powered across the room and through her, a blow that would have cleaved any other human, powered or not, in two. Tons of rock spilled atop of us as a support beam shattered into a million bits of 3D printed concrete. Since I was doing the maneuvering, I made sure to use the back of her skull as the leading edge as we redecorated the walls. I dug myself out first, chucking massive rocks aside to find the monster. I didn’t care about Blackjack 2.0. Frankly, I didn’t even care about how Apogee was. I was going to tear the blood goddess apart, rip her fucking heart out and-

  “Dale,” Apogee shouted, pulling me back as I spotted a mass of blood-spattered black hair and grew more frenzied. “Get away from her.”

  She pushed me away hard enough that I lost my footing and fell to the ground.

  “Go,” she screamed, her voice dripping with desperation, as she pointed at an approaching Blackjack 2.0. “Thanks, but I got her from here,” she said as Bloodstrike rose, her form weaving through the mound of rubble and reforming intact.

  “Oh, my,” the villain said her eyes wide in rapture. She moved toward me, but Apogee interceded. “I want him,” she pleaded to the heroine, almost begging.

  “That one belongs to me,” Apogee said, then turned back to me and practically shooed me away.

  Apogee didn’t wait to see if I would obey, tearing into Bloodstrike with a ferocity that was downright terrifying. Despite that, the villain still tried to get at me, but there was no way she could body past Apogee’s rage. Herding Bloodstrike away from me, implacable in her assault, Apogee gave the villain no choice but to turn on her.

  I was breathing heavily, sweating and bloody, but in that quiet moment, with Apogee facing Bloodstrike on one side of the cavern and Epic dueling the mighty Silverback on the other, I felt my strength return. I felt powerful again, ready for anything.

  Blackjack 2.0 paraded over, any fatigue he may have been feeling buried under bravado. A pair of sonic booms rang from the halls of the room, powerful enough that the ceiling above rumbled in their wake. An invisible compression wave was born from it, breaking Blackjack 2.0’s stride as it blew past him at knee level, dissipating before it reached me. I glanced up, thinking that Epic’s crew had broken through, but tremors shook the ground beneath me.

  I scanned the field and found the crater Epic and Silverback had created with their fight, deep enough that neither man nor gorilla was visible. Pebbles, grass, silt, and dirt spun in a mini-vortex above the crater, each landed punch spun the vortex faster, a top with its line ready to pull. The various bits of detritus that made up the vortex’s outline started tapering into a tail that drifted into the crater when suddenly it deflated like a balloon, the surrounding air exploding in another crack of thunder as it rushed to fill the space. A man sized hole burst from the lip of the crater and Silverback shot out, flying head over heels through the air and landing in the marsh with a splash of muddy water.

  Blackjack 2.0 stood where he had stumbled, watching with me as events unfolded, but when Silverback landed, my doppelganger rushed me. As he came closer, a cold wave washed over me, draining me again. It felt like stepping from a warm cabin into twenty-degree weather, wearing nothing but your birthday suit. A bitter chill rode up my spine,
and once again I was depleted. It hit me so suddenly I instinctively moved; stumbling across fallen rubble, but the effect receded. It was as if his draining power worked like an event horizon field surrounding him, with a definitive range. Within it, I was weakened instantly. Outside, the power didn’t affect me. The operating range was about ten meters or so.

  I was dipped in artic waters again as he got in tight on me, snapping a right cross faster than I could guard. The bridge of my nose ruptured in a sick, wet crunch that sent me skidding backwards across the marshy surface, my arms flailing in useless pinwheels as I collapsed.

  I picked myself up, but he was there, getting a fistful of Superdynamic’s suit and bashing my head in with his fists. He lay into the blows with everything he had, moving so fast I was trying to block the first when the third rocked my head far enough back that I thought my vertebrae splintered. My feet slipped beneath me and he let go, stepping back to throw a powerful kick at my chest. I threw my arms out, blocking most of the kick’s force, but I flew back into the swamp, rolling in the six-inch deep water.

  “Come on, Blackjack,” Haha said from somewhere inside my doppelganger, “I honestly didn’t think it would be this easy.”

  I had never seen anything like the dampening field, with a range that was so defined, so immediate. Most supers with area of effect powers operated with a varied anima. Even Stygian Black’s darkness abilities were undulating and imperfect. Blackjack 2.0’s power was a perfect circle; working once you had perforated it, not at all before that.

  Only a machine worked so flawlessly, and I knew only one device that had a similar effect on supers. “Power dampeners, Haha?” I said, thrashing the pooled water in my rage. “Can’t trust your boy to take me one on one?”

  Haha laughed, “Yes, that’s perfect! That’ll be the narrative. I’d forgotten what a natural you were at this.”

  I wanted to leap out of the water, ready to fight, but all of the enthusiasm in the world could not push beyond the limitations my battered body was working under. There was no place I could put weight comfortably, so I gritted my teeth and stood, taking care to lock my knees so I wouldn’t fall again.