Silence

by Tyler Vance

  Silence

  Book 1 of the Celestial Equation

  By Tyler Vance

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 Tyler Vance

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  Prologue

  Bright Lights and Long Shadows

  Sheikoh stood in the center of darkness, surrounded by cobwebbed conveyor belts and boarded-up windows. Pale moonlight dappled a pitted, concrete floor, strewn with clunky machines and crumpled beer cans. Shadows and creatures of the night flittered around the corners of awareness. The air hung still as death.

  For the moment.

  Sheikoh searched the pervasive gloom of the abandoned factory. Minutes stretched taunt, as he fought the urge to pace. Impatience burned his chest, and energy pulsed beneath his skin. Every fiber of his being was desperate for movement, but he kept it hidden. He refused to give his unseen watchers any reaction.

  Then . . .

  Were those footsteps..?

  Sheikoh’s expressionless mask slipped. He could just make out… something… sliding over concrete. He strained his ears. There was a soft hiss in the distance...

  A whisper..? Or a breeze..?

  Creak!

  Sheikoh flinched, as the doors slammed shut. Then, a minute later, another, more-distant pair of doors followed suit. As the echo dwindled away, a smile flickered across Sheikoh’s face.

  They were here.

  He held his breath.

  About 88 heartbeats later, darkness bulged.

  Black silhouettes advanced, circling Sheikoh like a pack of snarling wolves. Shadows dissipated from their features, like cold mist, exposing expressions of bloodlust and excitement. Hints of silver-blue flickered in scattered moonbeams.

  Five… seven… eight…

  Eight men crept towards him, movements feral and graceful. They weaved around him, stalking closer and closer, until Sheikoh could practically taste the alcohol on their breath. They formed a ring around him, a ring speckled with gaps. Deceptive, little gateways to freedom. Only, the guns in the men’s hands made it pretty clear the gateways were off-limits.

  “Hey,” Sheikoh opened his arms invitingly. “Pretty bandannas. They really glitter in the moonlight.”

  He was answered by cackles and a few insults.

  “Come on. That was a compliment.” Sheikoh turned to the nearest. “These guys. So love, come here-?”

  Back in the darkness, dark laughter rang, interrupting him.

  “Often…” Sheikoh trailed off anxiously.

  Something moved in the gloom – something big. Sheikoh cursed to under his breath. He wasn’t surrounded by eight men.

  And he knew that laugh.

  A massive number nine strutted out of the background and clapped one of his gangsters’ shoulders with a hand so enormous it made the dude look fun-sized. Dark skin drifted in and out of the midnight air, nearly invisible behind a disembodied, white grin. The long barrel of an assault rifle jutted just above his shoulder.

  Across from Sheikoh was one of the most dangerous men in Interium: Indigo.

  One of the four ganglords of Legacy, and, arguably, the most dangerous of all of them, Indigo was the only person that’d ever taken his talents head-on, survived, and made his life’s mission revenge for that.

  Legacy was the end-all, sewn together from the corpses of every gang it could lay its hands on. In all of the miles of grey city, ganglords answered only to their illusive leader, Ghost. Within the criminal hierarchy, they towered over common gangsters (with Indigo, the towering was a physical thing too). A ganglord could snap his fingers and pull about a thousand gangsters out of thin air.

  But that wasn’t what had Sheikoh worried. Tonight, he wasn’t the only criminal here with a reputation; Indigo was renowned as a fighting virtuoso. Even the other ganglords played it cautious around him.

  “So, Silence,” Indigo murmured thoughtfully. “You really Silence? The criminal prodigy? Kind of disappointing…”

  “Uh, that’s what they say,” Sheikoh giggled nervously. “You guys remember me saying ‘no offense,' earlier, right?”

  The men surrounded him with a chorus menacing laughter. Indigo smiled, eyes cold and sharp as shattered glass.

  Sheikoh forced himself not to step back. If anyone could handle this, it was him, he knew that. He was pretty sure he’d been in worse situations. Even if he couldn’t quite think of any.

  “You’re what? Six?” Indigo drawled.

  “Thirteen,” Sheikoh replied unthinkingly.

  “Thirteen…” Indigo’s face broke into a grin. “Sounds old enough to go a few rounds.” His men chortled. “Specially after we went to all of the trouble to hunt you down.” The ganglord flicked at the pistol tucked into the belt of his jeans, the one ‘confiscated’ from him earlier that day.

  Sheikoh gulped.

  “Nah, I’m talking in dog years. You know, cause I’m such a dawg? I’m not thirteen.” He thought for a second. “I’m really only… two?”

  “Well in that case…” Indigo mused, nodding thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Welcome to the dog fights.” The ganglord’s face broke into a dark smile.

  Sheikoh took a half-step back and unconsciously reached for the worn grip of his pistol. For a moment, his fingers searched the empty holster. Then he remembered; Indigo had it. The ganglord had obviously gotten it from the dude Sheikoh’d planted it on earlier in the chase.

  That little diversion might’ve cost him his life…

  No.

  It didn’t matter one way or the other.

  Sheikoh clenched his hand into a fist and let it fall to his side. One, over-grown gangster wouldn’t change anything. He’d never needed a gun to kill. He was Silence, Interium’s own criminal prodigy, and he was done running. Legacy wanted blood so bad, well, Sheikoh would give it to them. He’d cover the factory floor in blood – just for them.

  Sheikoh rolled his neck and fell into a loose, agile stance. He tried to relax. It was hard, considering he was about to go one-on-one with a ganglord three times his size. Inside a circle of the aforementioned’s men, no less.

  At least Indigo wasn’t going to use his assault rifle. Sheikoh watched the ganglord press it into another man’s hands…

  On second thought, he could’ve used that.

  For a moment, they circled warily. Sheikoh’s heartbeats were coming so fast, his vision physically fluttered under their influence. His palms were damp with sweat.

  This is really it.

  Indigo lunged.

  The ganglord whipped a blinding uppercut at his chest. Sheikoh danced aside, ignoring gasps from the men around them; Sheikoh was used to surprise elicited by his inhuman speed. Twisting, he flung a back kick Indigo. The ganglord backhanded his foot.

  Indigo pressed him back with a flurry of disorientating punches. Wind whistled around his face, as he weaved around the blows.

  Sheikoh was just fast enough to evade the torrent. He clawed at Indigo’s face. When the ganglord’s guard had obscured his vision, Sheikoh rolled under Indigo’s legs. Crouching, he tried to swipe Indigo’s legs from beneath him. But Indigo stepped over his leg. Then, about a second too late, Sheikoh realized that the ganglord’s knee was rolling towards him.

  A billion tons of momentum bashed him in the side, gouging out a gasp of pain.

  Sheikoh stumbled back, just avoiding Indigo’s follow-up punch. Then he ducked another one, f
inding his balance again. For an instant, Indigo was almost leaning on him. Putting his weight into it, Sheikoh heaved both of their bodies reeling backwards. He recovered slightly before Indigo, dodging another lethal round of punches.

  Sheikoh danced around Indigo’s knees and elbows, close up so that the ganglord couldn’t take advantage of extra reach, but far enough away that he could avoid Indigo’s grabs and body slams. He was holding his own. Sheikoh was faster than the ganglord, but it wasn’t doing him much good.

  Then it was over.

  Sheikoh’s heel jarred against the brick wall. Shock froze him for a fraction of an instant. Indigo was quick to take advantage. No time to dodge, Sheikoh pulled his forearm into a guard. Indigo’s massive fist smashed through it like a tank through a picket fence.

  The ganglord half-spun and slammed an elbow over Sheikoh’s head, sending him face-first onto hard concrete. Completing the sequence, Indigo’s foot blasted into his stomach, dashing him against hard brick.

  All of the air exploded out of his lungs. Tears blurred his vision so much so that he didn’t notice Indigo’s hand until it had pinned his throat up against the bricks. Then the ganglord stepped back and let him slide down onto the concrete, gasping desperately.

  Sheikoh took a breath. And then another.

  Okay. New idea.

  Sheikoh flung himself forward, ducking Indigo’s swipe. He launched at the gangsters surrounding them. Before they’d known what was happening, one of their arms was caught inside of the other’s jacket, and the other was trapped in a headlock. Sheikoh threw himself over them, the way he’d jump a fence. But his jacket caught on something. His trajectory froze for an instant, momentum battling Indigo’s grip.

  An instant later, Sheikoh was tossed backwards. He smashed into the concrete wall. His breath gasped out, and reality and blackness checkered his vision in floating squares. It felt like there were about twelve hundred other Sheikoh’s living this exact moment with him, floating around his head within his haze of pain.

  The ganglord held out his bulging arms in invitation, but Sheikoh was utterly beaten. The ganglord stared him with genuine disappointment in his gaze.

  “What‘s the point of hitting fast if I don’t feel it, Silence?” Indigo muttered with a touch of petulance to his tone.

  “Consistency?” said Sheikoh. He shook himself dizzily and winced at the resulting flare of pain in his forehead.

  Things looked pretty bad, he could see that. But if he didn’t die here, he totally might just make it out of here alive. Now he just had to… stay alive enough to survive this.

  Sheikoh looked up at Indigo. His eyes fixed on something behind the ganglord, and his eyes gleamed before he managed to quell their dancing excitement. Indigo couldn’t figure out about the dilapidated metal crane behind him, the one with a thread-like, rusty chain holding up a crate.

  He shook his hair, tearing his eyes away from the reason these men had caught him up here. Play it cool, Sheikoh told himself. He took a deep breath and forced out a laugh.

  Indigo flinched. His face went tight with caution. Sheikoh’s eyes sparkled, and his laughter suddenly became slightly more genuine.

  Cautious was exactly what he’d been going for. He just needed a little time to breathe, to focus. He was about to show this ganglord his own little, magic trick.

  “Wanna let us in on the joke?” jeered one the gangsters. There was a chorus of slightly-strained laughter. Everyone that’d heard of Silence, knew he was the master of last second turnarounds.

  Sheikoh turned and looked the man right in his eyes.

  “Did Ghost let you in on the reason he wants me to fall in line so badly?” He raised his eyebrows. The man’s face went white at the mention of Ghost, with good reason. “The man that does more than anyone to pay my bills?”

  Ghost’s name was only whispered if ever spoken at all. He was the invisible man, ranked number one on the Interium’s wanted list. He’d single-handedly beaten every other gang into submission, molding a hundred packs of rabid criminals into the deadly ‘Legacy’. They’d built a wall to contain him, but within its borders, Ghost held absolute dominion.

  Ghost had sent Indigo, his pet ganglord, to offer Silence a place within Legacy. Sheikoh had declined. Apparently however, it wasn’t an offer as much as an conscription notice. Indigo had been after him since.

  “Don’t you find it odd, that Jinx dies and then, in that same week, the Century start making trips over into the West?” Sheikoh improvised, spitting out some blood. “And then, the next week my freelance work isn’t enough for him anymore, he desperately needs me under his thumb. Want to know why?”

  Sheikoh paused for gravity, and tried to figure out what to say.

  “Last week Ghost had me break into an East Side estate, owned by a mate called Fiano Trill,” Sheikoh lied to the expectant gangsters, his voice apparently lost in memory.

  “Fill… was… a billionaire import export merchant between Skyrei and Sunsit. Dealt in arms.”

  The gangsters leered down at Sheikoh, their eyes bloodthirsty. He had to ramp up the excitement level if he planned on buying any time at all. He didn’t need much.

  He was getting close.

  “I made it through the toughest security I’ve ever seen,” Sheikoh continued, thinking furiously. “Which means pretty effing tough, before I finally got to the safe Ghost had described to me. That was…” Sheikoh trailed off, shaking his head. “It had a blood rune inked into the top.”

  Sheikoh hid a smile. The gangsters’ faces were wide with shock, even Indigo’s. He had them right in the palm of his hand. This cobbled conspiracy had entered the realm of the Celestial. The Celestial were the wielders of amazing magical powers. They were chosen by the stars or the gods or whatever the latest religion was going with. Sheikoh had looked up the eyewitness videos himself. No matter how far CGI had come, it still took time and effort. But there were literally millions of videos confirming the Celestial’s powers. It was too many not to be true. Rumors about the Celestial weren’t exaggerated in the slightest.

  “I was sure the contents couldn’t be worth the protection investment,” Sheikoh went on, lowering his voice dramatically.

  A few of the gangsters stopped breathing. Even Indigo looked like he was listening intently. Perfect.

  Sheikoh could already feel it pulsing in his veins-

  “But I was wrong,” Sheikoh went on quietly. “I couldn't believe it. I detonated the lock and found Entilei Vest’s old-

  NOW!

  To the gangsters, it was like he disappeared.

  Sheikoh threw himself at one of the men, ripped the man’s pistol out of his hands, and twisted his body, snapping an arm like a twig. Then he rolled over the guy’s shoulder and flung the dude’s limp body into the group before racing into the darkness. Criminals fell over one another like a bunch bowling pins.

  Already streaking away, Sheikoh pointed his newly-acquired pistol back at the gangsters. Three jets of lightning arced from its muzzle. Three men went down. The rest of them took his cue and disappeared, fleeing the dangerous light of plasmafire like roaches from sunlight.

  One of the fallen had survived however. The big man pushed himself back onto his feet. Sheikoh glanced back over his shoulder. Of course, Indigo just had to be the one who survived. The ganglord was wheeling around, searching for any sign of him. Luckily, Sheikoh was already all but invisible.

  “BRING ME SILENCE’S HEAD!” yelled the ganglord.

  His order intertwined with the hissing echo of plasmafire, reverberating around the factory like a dying scream.

  Sheikoh padded silently through their shadows and rolled into a crouch beneath one of the hanging assembly lines. His body went still as he scanned the surrounding darkness. Moonlight shimmered through the half-rotten roof, barely touching the thick shadows of the abandoned factory. Shattered windows bared their broken glass teeth down at him.

  A moment later, he let his body relax against a metal leg of an assembly
line. He gingerly pulled the collar of his shirt down, wincing at the bruises already darkening on his skin. Indigo’s signature.

  His hand, the one holding the gun, shuddered violently. He held its wrist against his leg. After a few long seconds, its twitching calmed. Sheikoh took a deep breath and sat there for a moment. He knew that he was all but invisible in the gloom, courtesy of his black outfit. He could lurk here unnoticed until the gangsters assumed that he’d escaped and left to plan his torture or whatever, but he wasn’t in the mood to hide; he was in the mood for some revenge.

  And when the boot stepped around Sheikoh’s corner, his body responded quicker than conscious thought. He threw himself forward, drawing a black blade from his boot in one, fluid motion. His vision stuttered. He was standing over the gangster, looking down into a pair of shocked eyes. All six inches of silent electroblade were lodged in the man's throat. The dude was barely able to gurgle his surprise, before falling onto the ground like a sack of flour.

  Sheikoh put a foot on the man's chest and jerked the blade free. An icy chill settled deep inside his bones. His eyes flinched away from the gangster’s face, and then hardened. Innocence was a luxury. It had no place in the real world. The real world was kill or be killed. Innocence was something Sheikoh had lost his chance at a long time ago. And staring into a pair of empty eyes wasn’t going to change anything.

  Sheikoh suddenly realized that he was holding a long metal tube. He glanced down at a shot gun with slight surprise. A vague memory of ripping something out of the man’s hands glanced across his mind.

  His thoughtful frown twisted into a grim smile. Things were starting to go his way. He might actually have some real chance at surviving this. Sheikoh stepped into a cloak of shadows with the lethal silence that’d earned him his street name.

  “Ready or not here I come…” Sheikoh muttered beneath his breath.

  He faded into the night.

  Sheikoh glided through the dark, easily avoiding the gangsters searching for him. He made mental notes of the factory’s layout as he went. Finally, after a few long moments of quiet footsteps later, he reached his destination. But he wasn’t the only one there.