Angelos Odyssey

by J. B. M. Patrick

  “H-hey, guy!” The mobster remarks, “I'm not sure you want to keep fuckin' with that thing—I-I mean, if they get loose…”

  I smirk and manage to discover another menu that takes me to direct control of…

  Their shackles?

  I power down their metallic bonds, which—to my surprise—immediately causes them all to spring open, leaving the victims dumbfounded as well.

  “HEY!” The gangster screams in desperation. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t just let them go!”

  I'm still ignoring him and looking through the device when I notice Ansi charging at me!

  I prepare to knock him back but promptly realize something.

  Ansi grasps my weapon with one hand and shoves me with his other while utilizing all the might he can in spite of his own limitations. He’s not very strong, but I’m too curious to stop him.

  “Hey! Wait—what are you d-?!” I hear the mobster exclaim anxiously.

  Ansi turns and immediately fires a succession of rounds into the slaver without hesitation.

  He continues shooting until he's blown through all the ammo, shredding the body of a nameless wannabe thug. A younger girl hurries over to comfort him as he continues gazing at the fragmented corpse.

  Another man, possibly the same age as Ansi, retrieves some device from the other dead agent’s ear and hands it to me with urgency. He then indicates that he’s been issued one as well and gestures for me to hurry; I humor him to hear what information I can gather although this isn’t a matter in which I necessarily want to be involved.

  The earpiece he’s handed me operates as a translator and renders everyone's voice in a monotone vibration:

  “Sir, sir!” he grabs my arm and seems to be pleading, “I am…” He stutters and appears lost for a brief moment… then he breathes in abruptly, as if he’s been deprived of oxygen, before continuing, “—my name is Desondre.” He gestures to the rest of the group. “We’re in danger, sir! W-we don't understand this place.”

  I try to maintain my patience; I’m not here to play hero.

  “What?”

  He freezes abnormally once again and then recovers before becoming emotionally despondent. Desondre is now sobbing, running his hands through his hair and experiencing a prior grief.

  Ansi is able to recollect himself enough to walk over to me without making eye contact. His fury radiates in an aura.

  “Get the police.” He tries to give me orders. “These men—they’re not as they seem! You have to get out of here—or-or…” Ansi shudders. “They'll do it to you, too…”

  He clenches his fists and laments bitterly, “I don't know what's real anymore. I'm trapped in this… hell.”

  I back away from him and sneer. “I'm here for a reason. You’re the ones who should go to the police—otherwise, stay out of my way.”

  The man prods me again urgently and causes me to notice something else about the group. The majority of them display either some brutal scar or significant disfigurement in various areas across their bodies. I notice battered forms, missing limbs—an odor… they hadn't been allowed to shower…

  “What are we to do then, sir! Where should we go?”

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “You're free now. Keep these people safe and go to the police; I'll take on the hard part.”

  Shutting them out of my thoughts, I resume focus on the task and retrieve my handgun from a distraught Ansi while moving to enter the hotel lobby without looking back at them.

  -

  I don't know what I expected to find in here, but the hotel reveals itself to be an unsanitary place consisting of a ruined dining area complete with dirty, broken tiles and worn carpet occupying the main lobby. I hurry past a front desk that hasn't been serviced for some time and down a hallway to walk by an open, steel door on the right. It’s been left open to show a laundry room emitting the smell of mold and decay, a room teeming with flies and other insects.

  I see a pile of discarded and bloodied sheets in a large bin next to shards of what looks like bone left on the ground. Despite their overly groomed appearance, the mobsters working for Genod & Portis are a messy bunch. Even if I fail on this contract, it’ll be no time before they’re exposed due to their own recklessness.

  First, I try using the elevator but quickly change my mind as its panels slide open to reveal reinforcements on their way to inspect the prior carnage. I decide to opt for a stealthier approach to save on time; there won't be much opportunity to escape if I wait until we're surrounded by police.

  I can feel someone following me up the stairs to the second floor, where I'm suddenly greeted by another agent at the door to the subsequent hallway. He doesn't seem to care or notice that I'm bloodied or that I recently finished killing some of his colleagues. The gang member is sporting a pair of opaque spectacles appearing to light up with miniaturized, digital numbers and words I can't quite make out from where I'm standing.

  “So,” he says casually, “you take care of the fools roughin' up our guys or what?” he stares at me for a moment before inquiring further, “What's your name again? Looks like you're missing your pins there, pal.”

  “Pins?”

  He raises an eyebrow before gesturing to his rank and name plate.

  Shit.

  “It was some bastard we found sleeping in the street.” I try to fake frustration. “We woke him up. Turns out he could fight—or, maybe he just liked my style…” I shrug.

  He shakes his head in response. “All you punks are the same to me.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don't take it personally, kid.” The mobster smirks. “But kids like you are too arrogant—in over your head, but besides that, Genod says we're all about to be getting these glasses.”

  “What do they do?”

  He offers me a condescending look before elaborating, “They're supposed to pick up energy from people; it's an algorithm that calculates a slave’s overall potential and lets us know where we can use them—oh, and I tried scanning myself, kid! Heh. I gave myself a few punches.” The mobster looks embarrassed. “You want to test it out now?”

  "You got it, but first I need to know something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m looking for Boa; any chance you’ve seen him?”

  He still seems slightly suspicious of me, but the man continues because he clearly enjoys hearing himself talk above anything else.

  "Boa?” The mobster scratches his beard thoughtfully. “That name rings a bell, but I can't say I know who it is for sure. Sounds like one of Genod's people. Why is that important?” He raises an eyebrow. “I know they've been bringing in some new guys because of the war, but I don't know about some of these fools. We sent out some pretty boy weakling who'd never held a gun in his life to lead an op. He was part of an extraction from Gaspul country, but I don't believe a chump like him had the gall to survive.”

  “He didn't.”

  The man looks at me earnestly. “Do you believe it takes a certain type of Strength to survive in this world, Mr…?”

  “Tavon.”

  “I'm scanning you now.”

  He takes on a more aggressive demeanor; he understands.

  Our eyes meet again.

  “Are you strong enough to kill me?” The agent asks.

  “Why?”

  “Because if you aren't…” He ponders deeply for a moment and states: “I won't hesitate to murder everyone close to you. Everyone who knows about what I just told you.”

  “Deal.”

  He swiftly swings his fist around to connect with my chest, but I absorb it before heaving my fist against his exposed jaw!

  A snapping sound pierces the air as the associate's body collapses to the ground. I'm unsure if he's unconscious or alive, but I don't have the time to waste.

  —However, before I leave I try to check the scanner he was using to see the results:

  Broken.

  Dammit.

  I continue up a lengthy flight of stairs
and end up passing by several more mobsters who are hurrying toward the lobby and ignore my presence altogether. I manage to remain discrete and am able to pass them by while furthering my own ascent. Following numerous steps, I make it to the top, eighth floor where an immense form guards the entrance this time. It's something that doesn't belong here, an abnormal figure.

  Its face hovers over a form obscured in a dark cloth. The entity is three times the size of me. A worthy challenge, but I'm nervous… this thing is dangerous, and there's no way any human could tame a creature never intended to be physically perceived nor comprehended. If I look at him directly, my mind starts to dissolve.

  Genod & Portis having this kind of power is… absurd.

  I don't recognize you.

  A sensation burns its way painfully across the side of my head and produces words uttered from the entity.

  But thou are not ill-mannered. Much unlike the others of this place.

  Despite my resolve, my vision shifts to black and returns in unpleasant bursts. I feel my body become plagued and overwhelmed with exhaustion; I have to fight through this.

  Don't mind me, the being announces calmly.

  I'm simply a wanderer; I desire to view the condition of human nature. I do believe that thou will meet tonight's goal, vagrant, but only if you overcome your own Cowardice.

  It matters not. It cackles in mild amusement. Your failure arrives in the same manner as it did for those who chose to claim lives for profit.

  There's a flash!

  My vision fades, and I almost fall over before kneeling to allow myself the time to recover.

  It's then that I realize I’ve other stab wounds I didn't notice while fighting—two semi-deep, horizontal cuts across my lower abdomen. I've lost blood, and the creature’s gone. Must have imagined whatever it was that once stood there. There's still an entry point standing between me and, hopefully, my target. I hope I wasn't out for that long… if I was out…

  I open an old, wooden door and head through into a large hallway populated with side rooms and ending in a grandiose staircase splitting into two symmetrically curved paths that lead into a private, lavish chamber. This chamber is sealed off by a doorway adorned with lavender jewelry.

  This whole time I continue to think:

  "Grey suit. Notch in upper left ear. Glasses."

  I pass an open room to my immediate right and see a man wearing body armor over a dark grey suit. He's yelling in another language that I don't immediately pick up and has strapped an older, naked man down into a chair.

  The strangely-dressed individual hovers around the victim in what seems like the middle of an eccentric interrogation; he’s carrying one of those devices I’d seen previously used to control those the syndicate had captured. Every time the suffering man utters a response, he is met with an induced seizure generated from the effects of the implant. The phone appears to flicker with a faint light as the victim is brutally incapacitated against his own will.

  I stay focused: "Grey suit."

  On the left, I pass a room barred only by a glass door giving view of a gathering of children from various age groups. They stand utterly still, garbed in very little other than basic pieces of cloth that had withered over time. While hovering meekly over counters gleaming against the overhead, long fluorescent light, the younger victims are made to sew outfits similar to those worn by members of the agency. I see a bitter woman supervising them and brandishing a rather large blackjack tainted in myriad splotches of crimson.

  “Left. Notch. Ear."

  In another chamber, I see a group of females standing in line while being inspected by two men—one dressed as another of the mobsters while the other appeared to be… visiting?

  Tears flow down the face of one of the women who’s looking toward the ground, her breaths rapid in anticipation of something dreadful. I witness visible shaking from the others as the enthusiastic gangster tries to ‘advertise’ them. He’s treating them like products to appease an old geezer who grins at them while baring twisted intent.

  I’m disgusted; I feel angry.

  “Glasses."

  I couldn't find any information on Boa's real name.

  The contract had been delivered via the Network as usual, but its details were lacking; there was nothing to make of this hit, and now I was realizing just how much of a challenge my evasive target might be.

  Someone obscured, someone orchestrating this ongoing misery: Boa, an individual I know only by his crimes. The order on his life includes an extensive list of charges: “Intent to Cause Damage to Government Property,” “Battery,” “Assault with a Deadly Weapon,” and other unscrupulous acts that made him out to be an unstable person.

  Most of my hits have been weak guys—fellas depraved in some way or another… I want to fight someone who makes me afraid, a target who can test what I can do. Maybe this is it, what I've been training for all this time.

  The final and largest room in this hallway displays yet another scene. A surgeon is calmly attempting to suture a deep puncture wound belonging to an unconscious man. Upon more than just a glance, I notice that one of the patient's arms has been severed at the elbow. Beyond that that observation, I see fine, steel wiring jutting out slightly from the amputated area.

  On a side table, there rests a bionic arm next to a very realistic-looking eyeball. And as I look further into the room, keeping silent, I see them:

  Rows of hospital beds occupied with bodies— “bodies,” because I'm not sure if any of them survived what appears to be brutal injuries sustained from some type of… blast, maybe.

  The remnants from a violent attack.

  I have to keep reminding myself that I'm here for Boa; I can't let myself get distracted.

  As I progress through the hallway, the door to the chamber above the stairs swings open revealing a middle-aged woman adorned in a yellow dress; she dons a set of pearled earrings as well as a medallion probably worth its own small fortune. When she sees me, she stops in the middle of a conversation with a man who continues to speak to her from behind.

  The woman rushes toward me from the steps, and I smile for a moment thinking I might at last learn something.

  “Is there a man named Boa around, ma'am? I have business with him.”

  She retorted, "You're bold for asking me the questions.” Her expression turned to a disgusted snarl before she promptly raised her voice: “Just who the hell are you? –You can’t be one of the newbies we hired." The member glared at me as she kept voicing her thoughts. “And you're covered in blood… —do you intend to take over Genod & Portis, because I’m Genod, and you're surrounded, you dumb idiot! My men will see that you contribute to—”

  I aim the barrel of another pistol I’d brought at her temple; there’s no time for this.

  "Easy.” I say. “I’ve a quota to meet. Just take me to Bo—”

  From behind, I hear the sound of a gunshot.

  I turn to see:

  Ansi! The group of victims from before begins to pour into the room equipped with what they'd retrieved from the fallen mobsters—assault rifles, pistols, bats… they've taken fate into their own hands and appear to have let the younger members flee.

  Ansi, burning with a grim determination, opens fire in the room containing the interrogation victim before regrouping with the others as they hastily spread out and wreak their own vengeance upon the syndicate. I'm so impressed by their resolve…

  That I don't even notice when Genod draws her weapon and uses it.

  I move down and away from the shot! The explosive sound of gunpowder resounds and a sharp pain is heard and felt as a bullet grazes my right shoulder.

  “Dammit!” She curses and lunges to stab me with a tantō withdrawn from a dark sheathe that’s attached to the back of her lower thigh. I react quickly enough to grab her flailing arm and manipulate the extremity to the side while forcing it behind her. Subsequently, I strike her neck with the side of my palm and allow Genod to fall unconscious onto th
e floor.

  I've got to be getting close now. Nearer to the source of the corruption. This is where I'll get the answers I need. If Portis and Genod are commonly-known entities among their organization, then Boa has got to be the one at the top whose name doesn't get brought up. But once their trafficking operation is exposed, that’ll change.

  The door above the stairwell swings open again.

  I turn and shoot an oncoming agent in the chest before moving toward the left set of ascending stairs as he tumbles over the railing.

  Another gang member charges at me with spiked, brass-knuckled fists raised and ready. I throw my gun and strike him hard enough in the skull that the barrel of the weapon itself receives a small dent from the impact while simultaneously knocking him backward. I catch it in midair and proceed to kick my staggered opponent back into the path of the next agent before jumping onto the railing and leaping forward to deliver another, more powerful kick to the next fighter's head.

  Again, I use too much force and I recognize the fatal snapping sound produced by his neck as the mobster’s body is forced back before it collapses onto the staircase.

  When reaching the entrance to the master suite ahead, I grab the rifle carried by one of the reinforcements before rapidly driving my heel through his knee! He staggers forward, and I strike him with a right hook to the side of his face that incapacitates my enemy just as the doors to the following chamber are taken up by a much larger foe.

  This one seems different from the others. More immense, bulky. Almost superhuman.

  He's wearing a helmet which completely conceals his features, however disfigured they may be. This sizable defender rushes to choke me with two outstretched, colossal hands, and I meet him head on to hold his advance in place!

  "Y-YOU CAN’T…” he manages to utter. I push back against his own strength in a draw as we try to overpower one another.