by Adam Thielen
What the shit bombs? she wondered, momentarily distracted. Composing herself, she chased after the man, no longer of stone, and was met by a yell from Terra behind her. Daria slipped and fell as the ground beneath her became a large patch of ice. Her butt continued to slide until her feet reached the edge. The cold was biting and painful and dug deep into Cretu’s body.
Having again lost sight of the warlock, she rose and sprinted around the room to the other side of the mess of coolers and directly at Terra. As she ran, she flicked a lever on her guns, causing the grips to separate from the receivers. As the bulk of her firearms dropped to the floor, she pressed the open ends of the handles together and twisted, forging a double-bladed weapon.
Terra pulled her hands back, then thrust them forward, loosing a bolt of electricity that turned the room white with its brilliance reflecting off every stainless surface. It arced to Daria’s blade, and while her legs seized enough for her to stumble, the power of the spell seemed to wane without its desired effect, and Cretu continued her charge.
Terra panicked and flung a series of ice shards at Daria, alternating hands. Daria ducked and dodged, then spun her weapon, batting one away. The mage screamed as the slayer invaded her bubble of protection and twirled her blade around in a wide circle. Its edge sliced into Terra’s neck but stopped halfway through. The blow flung her body sideways, where she landed, dead, with a pool of blood gathering around the wound.
Daria spun around to see Neiltz gaping at his colleague. “No,” he mouthed. He steeled himself and charged at the killer. Cretu readied her sword. As he came in, he blocked her blow with both arms, but this time the blade cut through the skin. He endured it to grab the sword and pull it close. He headbutted Daria, forcing her to release her hold on the weapon and stagger back.
Every move the warlock made was now punctuated with a furious yell. Trusting his hands more than her sword, he tossed it aside and lunged at her with clenched fists. Backed against the wall, Cretu put her arms up defensively but could not lean away from the man’s punches. He hit her several times in quick succession. His swings were varied, and the slayer lacked proficiency in hand-to-hand defense.
He pummelled her as she tried to duck from one side to the other. Blood still poured from his forearms, his movement flinging it onto the walls, stainless steel, and his opponent. Desperate to end the offensive, Daria ducked forward and grabbed him about the waist, but he brought a knee up into her stomach. Her feet lifted from the ground, then fell as her legs gave out. Her eyes moved to her blade, several meters away.
Neiltz brought his foot up to stomp Cretu’s face, but the slayer grabbed his grounded leg by the ankle and pulled him off-balance. Holding fast to his limb, she rolled to her back and kicked up, booting him in the chest. He fell backward and Cretu rolled to her hands and feet. She pawed her way toward her blade, rising to her feet halfway there.
The warlock scrambled upright and chased after. Cretu dove into a forward somersault, snatching her blade as she rolled, then pointing one end up toward her pursuer. He ran into the tip, and it pierced his chest, sliding between the ribs left of his sternum. Daria drove the blade in further until it protruded from his back.
“How?” he coughed out.
“Shoulda’ neva’ messed with ma girl, betch,” she replied as more of the blue flecks of light gravitated toward her. She ripped the blade out and Neiltz fell to his knees. Blood traveled down his stomach, darkened his crotch, then continued down his left thigh. His head lowered and his body relaxed.
Daria stared at him for a moment, then at Terra. A panic of guilt and fear struck her, and she hit herself in the forehead with her palm, then again, yanking at her hair. She wiped the blood from her bruising face, lowered her arm, and shuddered. Gotta keep going, she decided. Gotta find Jones.
The cafeteria was deathly silent. Daria took the stairs up to the next level. A sign read ‘Interrogations.’ She passed an office with a large window. Inside were two orderlies staring fearfully back at the slayer.
“Yo, where is Jones?” she yelled at them.
The thicker one stayed still while the other pointed to his left. Daria followed his direction to a brown metal door. She touched the panel on the wall and it slid open. A stench hit her nose and caused her to step back and retch.
“Taq!” she called between gags. “You in there?”
“Depends,” he yelled back.
Daria held her nose and stepped into the room. Inside, a naked old man sat on a stool with a soup bowl to his face. The mage finished licking it clean then set it on the counter next to him.
“Taq? Taq Jones?” she asked.
“I thought maybe you’d just give me an injection,” he replied, staring at her sword.
“A’ight, dude,” she said. “I’m gonna overlook the fact that you are naked and smell like a sewer ’cause you’re a friend of Tsenka, but we gotta book it the feck outta here.”
Taq struggled to his feet. “Sure,” he said. “But listen here, young lady, we must first stop at the infirmary.”
“I don’t think they can help you, now come on.”
“You go where you wish, but I am going to go find where they hide the drugs,” he declared, slowly shuffling toward her.
“We ain’t getting anywhere at that speed,” said Cretu. “By the way, I’m Daria.”
“You’re—never mind, it matters not,” said Taq. “Onward to the infirmary. Don’t worry, it’s near the front entrance. I think once I get moving, I can shake the cobwebs out.”
Cretu wanted to protest walking out the front doors but realized the mage wouldn’t very well fit through the same way she had come in, and any windows not level with the floor would be a struggle for him.
“Maybe the infirmary will have some scrubs you can put on,” said Daria. “Let’s go already.”
They backtracked to the stairs, descended, and headed toward the front entrance. From behind a makeshift barricade of office desks, the guard in riot gear stood, clutching a grenade launcher.
Daria stopped in her tracks. “Aw crap.”
The guard raised the launcher and Taq pushed his palm forward. She fired, sending the bullet-shaped explosive whistling toward Jones and Cretu. But at merely a third of its journey traveled, the grenade bounced off an invisible barrier and detonated, blowing the guard off her feet and down the hall.
Cretu looked at Taq then continued her march to the infirmary. They turned left down a short hall then entered a room plated bright white. Jones pushed past her and lifted up the counter gate at the pharmacy. The room was empty and the air in the building was still as the mage rifled through plastic drawers and fiberboard cabinets.
Sirens pierced the air, but not from within the university. Daria stepped out of the room then ran back in.
“There’s a squad of armed men coming to put us down,” she announced. “We have to go. Now.”
“You go ahead,” said Taq. “I’d rather die than leave empty-handed.”
“What are you even looking for?” she shouted.
“Here,” he said, holding two bottles above the counter. “I don’t see any others. This will have to do.”
Daria opened a closet and pulled out an operating gown and lab coat and threw them at the naked man. “You’re cold, put these on.”
“It’s actually not too bad in here,” he said.
“I know, just put them on and let’s go.”
“Fine,” he said, following her out of the room. He shoved the bottles into the pockets of the coat. As they stepped out, they saw the armed men approach the front doors.
Daria grabbed Taq’s arm. “This way.”
“No,” said Taq. “The office.” He pulled his arm away and speed-walked to the office door before she could stop him. He took shelter behind the remaining desk.
Daria followed him. “Taq, what are we doing?”
“Close the blinds!” he said. “I forgot to.”
She obeyed, running to the windows and swiping them opa
que. Cretu then moved to the door and swiped it shut. She moved to Taq’s shelter and lifted the side of the desk, standing it up longways, then pushed it in front of the door.
Jones forced two of the stolen pills down his throat while Daria worked. She turned to him. “They’re coming and that desk isn’t going to keep them out. What the hell are we doing?”
Taq took her by the shoulders. “Stand against the wall,” he instructed. “Move fast, stay undetected, and unleash hell.”
An orchestra of boots clomped through the mantrap to the office entrance.
“Do what now?” puzzled Cretu.
Jones grinned as blood fell from his nose. He shoved her back, but instead of hitting the wall, she moved through it, her body phased by his magic. She stumbled through and caught herself on the other side. Men with a battering ram knocked the desk over and were greeted by a salvo of Ethereal darts striking their armor and helmets. The impact was weak, but that didn’t stop the guards from drawing their hybrid rifles and firing on the old man sitting in the corner of the office.
Their bullets bounced off the pale blue orb surrounding the mage. Taq gritted his teeth as each bullet demanded more Ethereal energy to maintain the shield. Heat quickly swept over him and flooded his skull. Before his scalp and face could respond with perspiration, more blood began to trickle from his nose and red pinpricks appeared on his forehead. He closed his eyes and focused on the spell.
Daria scanned her surroundings. Six men had entered the building. She watched as the last man disappeared from view, then unlocked her blades, dropped one on the ground, and followed the guards back into the building. As she crept up on the caboose, the first two guards opened fire at Taq.
Cretu stabbed her blade through the rear guard’s back, cupping her hand over his mouth as he screamed. The man went limp and Daria snatched his sidearm from the holster at the back of his belt. She pointed it forward at the next guard, stabilizing with her off hand, and stepped heel-to-toe until the barrel brushed against the hairs on his neck.
BANG!
The officer’s head flung forward and Daria moved to the next one, who turned around just in time to eat a bullet. The remaining three guards, hearing gunfire that was not their own, turned on Cretu as she put a bullet in the third man.
Daria wrapped her arm around that man’s neck and held him up as a shield while aiming at one of the two remaining guards. Both of them opened fire on her, pummeling their dead colleague with lead. Cretu fired three shots. The first two hit the guard on the helmet, with the third caving in his upper lip and dropping him.
The dead man in Cretu’s grasp became heavy, forcing her to use her gun arm to help hold him up by the armpits. The remaining officer’s gun stopped firing with a clank. Daria dropped the body and took aim at the man now fumbling with his jammed weapon. He looked up at her and screamed as she shot him in the face, ending the conflict.
She stepped over the bodies and re-entered the office, where a wild-eyed Taq sat with both hands pushed outward. Blood coated his mouth and chin. Upon seeing Daria, he lowered his arms and exhaled, glancing from one dead or dying man to the next, then looked up in awe at the slayer who had put them all down.
His savior bent down and helped him to his feet.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said.
Episode 14: Desre’s Game
A man in a tight button-down shirt sits across from Matt with a tablet in one hand and a stylus in the other. The blinds on the windows are down, and only a small lamp in the corner of the room behind the man supplements the lighting. The nameplate on the man’s door reads, ‘Henry Mennow, Psy. D.’
“How’s the new job going?” asks Henry. The psychologist has a short mustache and a receding hairline. His face is round and rough, but he wears a kind smile.
Matt shrugs. “It’s fast food,” he says. “It sucks, but it will work, for now.”
“For now? You have more plans?” Mennow scribbles with his stylus as he speaks.
“I can keep applying at other places,” replies Trent. “Maybe take some courses.”
“But not back home?”
“Here is home now. If I finish college, it should be here.”
Henry looks up from the screen. “You mentioned last time that you were supposed to be here. Can you tell me why that is?”
“I know where this will go,” says Matt. “Maybe I just like it here better.”
“That would be nice, but it wouldn’t be honest, and we want to be honest,” explains Mennow. “These sessions are purely for your benefit. I can’t make you believe anything, I can’t endanger your job, and I can’t force you to medicate. You don’t seem dangerous, so just tell me the truth.”
“Yes,” Matt admits. “I’m supposed to be here. I don’t know why. I think I must have at one point, but it’s gone now. It feels like trying to remember a dream. I remember bits but not what I’m supposed to be doing here.”
“You might be surprised to learn that what you experience isn’t all that uncommon,” assures Henry. “The brain is very good at defending itself. Many forms of trauma can have dramatic effects on memory.”
“Except it’s not this life, it’s—.” Matt stops himself.
“You feel you had another life? What kind of life?”
“I’m really not a crazy person,” insists Matt.
“I believe that,” says Mennow. “Don’t worry so much. You mentioned remembering bits. Give me an example.”
“It’s…” pauses Trent. “It’s like I was in a parallel universe. You know, where things are similar but different? Like a past life, but it was in the future. Maybe it still will be. And in it, I was… will be, whatever, a vampire.”
Mennow cannot prevent a grin from forming on his face. “Like the Twilight books? That sort of thing?”
Matt groans. “No, not like Twilight.”
“Well, you said vampire. You mean with fangs and drinking blood and such?”
“Yes,” says Matt, moving his hand to his face in embarrassment. “That’s right. I’d have to stay out of the sun and—”
“Or else you’d start sparkling,” says Henry.
“Oh, Jesus,” sighs Trent.
“I think I get it,” continues Mennow. “So, what did you do in your past life, Matt?”
He places his hands on the curved armrests of the chair. “Just lived,” he says. “I think most of it was just boring stuff. Work, eat, sleep. But I remember being aboard a giant flying fortress and making it crash.”
Henry sits up straight. “You were a pilot, too?”
“No,” he replies. “The fortress was bad. I was a hero for bringing it down.”
Mennow lifts his hand toward Matt. “See, now that makes sense. I know you will think I’m being dismissive, but I think I can help you. Hero fantasies can take on a life of their own. Combined with trauma-induced memory loss, I think we have a good place to start for treatment.”
* * *
Tsenka’s wall-mounted phone beeped and she rose from her slumber to answer. “Yes?”
“We have a report back from a returning scout,” said the operator on the other end. “He says your friend Taq is well and sends his regards. He said that he and Anne are still looking.”
“That’s a relief,” said Cho. “Was there anything else?”
“That was the entire message the scout left with me.”
“Okay... thank you.”
The line went dead and Tsenka hung up the receiver. She stood next to the phone for a moment as a strange feeling came and passed, then moved in front of her smart wall and stared at the faces of the New Apulon council, Andrei, and his successor, a man named Diego Gimon that she had not yet met. Below them were financiers, rich vampires that had brought their crypto with them and had sway over the council. Below that line were the faces of vampires that had posted support for Makida’s attack. Cho had ordered them from most radical to potentially harmless.
She didn’t want to admit it, but Tsenka knew she wa
s nearing a dead end without finding anything that would convince Matthias. Even the New Republic would balk at an invasion of Antarctica this long after the Haven attack based on the mere potential of sympathetic remnants.
What a waste of time, she thought, bringing up the alphanumeric keys Desre had bestowed onto her HUD. One was short, too short to be an encryption key, and Cho speculated it might be a login password. While almost no device would use a text password for primary authentication, it could still be used as a fail-safe.
The second set of digits and letters was exactly eight kilobytes in length and most certainly used for encryption. She looked at the faces pinned to her board again. Which one do you unlock?
She dressed and stepped into the commons, grabbing a bagel on the way to Matthias’s. She banged on his door obnoxiously until he answered, still in a robe.
“It’s early,” he said.
“I want to enter the champion’s tournament,” she said.
“God,” he said in an annoyed tone. “Let me wake up, and I’ll call the game commission. I’m not sure if they’ll accept a late entrant, though.”
Tsenka slipped past him, invading his room. “I’ll wait. Maybe I can plead with them. Tell them I got here too late. Tell them I’m marketable.”
Trent laughed as he threw off his robe and headed to the shower. “Sure, I’ll tell them that. Maybe you should get a corporate sponsor.”
“I think those ad dollars would go to waste,” she replied.
“Why so interested in fighting now?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Business or pleasure?” he asked.
“Both.”
“Right,” he said, starting the mist spray and scouring his skin of filth, residue, and stink. “Ey, you have dreams when you sleep?”
Cho sat on the bed cross-legged with her palms stacked on a knee. “The ones with the bogeymen?”
“No,” he replied. “Just… dreams.”
“If I do, I don’t remember them. You?”