by Travis Borne
Jerry raged so hard his face turned purple; his body sent every bit of oxygen to his muscles; his head moved back and forth in rhythmic pounding jerks; his bloodshot eyes were deadly focused. Veins swelled into nodular bulges on his temples. Ruptures flooded entire areas beneath his skin. Spiderweb bruises exploded, marring his face with dark-red blotches. Jon was white with fear, dripping cold sweat, just waiting to push the button. Suddenly—RIP!
Jon didn’t wait to look. He would’ve pressed it either way.
FLASH!
Behind Jon a bright light illuminated the cave. A flashbang! Punches to the brain, perceptions were distorted and all thought processing went numb. A reverberating ping echoed against the rock walls. Pings intensified, magnified in pulsing waves. Muscles clenched and cramped. Impartially, it penetrated each person in the cave. There was a tone of madness which brought incoherence and seizure and pain. Twitching, everyone fell to the ground.
Jodi’s eyes went white, her mouth sprung open; she jerked tightly. Fat Dwayne blobbed to the ground and rolled backward toward the tunnel like an electrocuted seal. Ray had been getting up but fell flat on his face. Lee fell with his pants at his knees. But, Jerry’s sheer will and focused rage left him best positioned to deal with the shock, and, he knew what to expect—they’d used Mode 3 before.
The blocker exploded, releasing its ultimatum then caught fire. It left a deep cauterized hole in Jon’s leg as he knew it would. This pain roused Jon from his slumber, sending him a blast of life. He knew there were only a few seconds until everyone recovered. Groggily, he looked to Jerry, trying to get control of his motor functions. Jerry was way ahead of him. His rage had somehow shielded him from much of the repercussions.
Lee was recuperating quickly, too, more so than the others, and saw Jerry coming like an angered god. Jerry grabbed his neck as if his palm was a fist that had punched it, and he squeezed. Lee, foaming at the mouth, regained some motor control and scrambled to defend himself. He brought up the pistol but Jerry caught it and easily removed the weapon then crushed his hand, breaking every bone. He folded Lee’s hand backward, flat onto his forearm; bones ejected like porcupine splinters. Desperate, Lee threw an undercut punch with his remaining good arm but Jerry was steel. He might as well have punched a brick wall. And Jerry lifted the pirate high, squeezing harder, then tossed him onto the steps like a crumbled can of beer.
The fire behind Jon had managed to burn away his cloth restraints. He was injured, horribly, but free, and not a prisoner to the pain. He met Jodi’s eyes. Teary-eyed, she managed to force out some words. “Forget about me. Go get ’em, Jon.” Jon rose, ready to deploy vengeance. He himself was a freight train and took a deep breath of power, inhaling his pain and using it to his advantage. He saw Amy on her face, not moving, and blood. Kill them. Quick!
Jon grabbed the pipe stowed next to his sleeping area and raised it above Ray. Vision and senses completely returned, mullet-boy looked up and back, turning his neck just as it came down, rolling onto his back and avoiding the swing. Ray raised his arms in defense for the second swing, and Jon smashed his arms with all he had, and like twigs they fell, broken to pieces. Jon introduced the pipe to his skinny face and he smashed and smashed until there was nothing but a pile of bloody grey shit and teeth.
Jerry strode, his footsteps pounding the earth. His rage had not abated, not one bit. He knew what he was going to do, like no other time in his life he was finally going to unleash his full power, a power even he himself feared. But Valerie jumped in front to stop him. She was shirtless but that was the least of her cares. Their eyes met, he fumed, but her face, her love—to him it had more power than anything in the world. A bond of love and determination overwhelmed them both—and she held up Lee’s revolver. Jerry touched her face, he’d calmed just enough.
“I love you,” he said. He nodded a single nod and took a step back. And she turned to Lee.
Jon was maniacally beating the fat one with the pipe. Like two planets colliding, he’d lost all the marbles. Dwayne was already dead, but still spasming as Jon continued to obliterate his face, until it too was a mere pile of hairy pulp. Jon’s eyes were red and could no longer focus on anything but hate, and he lifted the bar. The steel pipe went straight into the Dwayne’s heart. The tip funneled body heat, smoking like a stack. He bolted to Amy.
She was hurt, hurt bad.
Valerie leered at the filth in front of her and spit. Jerry towered behind her and together they were one entity. Valerie brought the nose of the gun to his face, then lowered it.
“No, no,” Lee stammered. “We have—a device—it can—a vehicle. Anything you—” He cupped his hands around his exposed dick.
The powerful gun kicked her back but Jerry held her firm with his big hands on her shoulders. Lee wailed, screaming in agony. “You bitch! Go ahead, fucking do it, go ahead, you fucking—aaaaah!”
Valerie brought the gun up to Lee’s face. A hand gently rose atop hers and pushed it down. “The noise, Val, we must—let me,” Jerry said. He knew two shots would be a dead giveaway to their location—to drones, or more villainous humans. Valerie lowered the gun and Lee sighed amid the pain; his fingerless hands, his glassy black eyes, his mutilated genitals, he saw only one thing.
The boot.
Jerry brought it down like a sledge. It was over in one hit. The black-bearded jaw shifted incongruously to the side of his face in a stereo crack; the neck made a low pop. Unleashed, Jerry made absolutely sure with two more so hard the earth trembled; pirate no more, his face was flat.
“Pudrete en el inferno! Filth of humanity.” Valerie spit again.
“Jerry! Val!” Jon screamed. “She’s hurt bad. Her arm.”
Amy lay in Jon’s arms, unconscious; blood was everywhere. They rushed over. The cut went into her arm right above her elbow, through the bone; her arm dangled by skin, tendons. Jerry met Jon’s eyes with terrible urgency.
“Do it,” Jon said. Jerry unfolded his knife and cut through the remaining flesh, completely severing her arm. He set the tiny arm behind him. The three worked together like they’d always had. Valerie put her feet up and covered her. Jerry made a tourniquet.
“Valerie, we can take care of Amy, please go help Jodi.”
Jerry flushed the wound with water then wrapped it tight. Jon slid a pillow under Amy’s head then looked over to Valerie. In a flash flood of tears Valerie slowly shook her head.
Jon broke down.
50. Future City
Browsing the available maps, Amy was early and anxious.
“Okay, Amy, what’ll it be?” Ted asked.
She remembered the stunning woman she’d seen, whom she now knew to be a top lender, among the best: Jessie with the hourglass figure, long silky blond hair—the perfect…everything. How experienced she’d seemed, sure of herself, and sexy. When she grabbed her man with passion then called for privacy near the fountains…
“This one right here,” Amy said. “Future City.”
“Ah, popular map,” Ted replied. “We’ve double checked your stats while you were off yesterday and everything looks excellent. We usually hold off for a few days to a week but we noticed you catch on very fast and it seems you might be ready for a full output day—if that’s okay with you of course. If you need more—”
“I’m ready to go full on, Ted,” Amy interrupted. “I’d like to get straight to it.” She thought of Jessie. I want to be just like her.
“Okay then—ah, and here comes Jim now. He will probably stretch for a minute. Grab a bite or use the facilities, we’re a go in ten minutes. Feel free to log in any time after that. And we can let the map you’ve chosen be a surprise but I’ll run over and let him know we’re a go for normal operation. And Jim likes the Future City map, so he’ll be happy you picked it.”
Jim, per chronic habit, did manage to get himself lodged into a stretching machine. Amy went to the bathroom. Exiting, she passed him tossing a flirtatious wave and smile then went straight to the kitchen. Jim retur
ned the smile and clicked another notch on the leg stretcher. Before he could enjoy the burn, there she was.
“Why do you always squeeze yourself into those, anyway?” she asked, eating something that looked like a log, cheeks like balloons.
“I could get a cramp if I don’t. Many are the same, happens after you’ve been doing it for a while.”
“Well, what happens if you get a cramp?”
“Like other bodily needs, it could cause a sudden awakening—that’s an unexpected logout—highly frowned upon and can severely burden main output flow. Just one can send the feed crashing, straight to yellow status, or worse, to red. You, like everyone here, has to learn what works best for you in order to keep things running smoothly.”
“I don’t get cramps,” she said.
“You just might if you keep eating—what is that…is that a whole medium pizza, rolled up?”
“Of course, silly, why not?” Her eyes rolled up and she shook her head, basically telling Jim he was being ridiculous.
Being rushed by her focused gaze, Jim headed to the inner tier and climbed onto a bed then crossed his arms on his chest and began to relax. Amy’d been there, waiting for him to finish his sets. He pushed the pressure of her eagerness aside and tried to relax for login. The dream he’d had two days ago continued loitering within his thoughts. It was still a shock, the first dream in, damn, might as well have been forever. And he had a lingering nervousness about what to expect today—with his new partner. He was coming to grips with a realization: this could very well be the end of years of routine monotony. But that’s what he so desperately wanted, right? She was unlike any other, a fact that slapped him harder with each passing moment. She’s just so vibrant and alive, and ready to get down to business. “Director, Jim to log in.”
Amy’s pre-login thoughts wandered as well. She hardly slept last night because her mind raced with possibilities of her new job. And she lowered her eyes to see the bandwidth meter at the center of the room—bordering on yellow. We’ll see about that, she thought with a determined brow. Curiously, she also noticed the purple status band again, far above the green. “Director, Amy to log in.”
Dancing blurs taunted their eyes. They spawned sitting on a bench near a grand casino entrance, the city at its peak in the year 2025; the map stabilized. Lights—bulbs, neons, lasers, strobes—massacred the strip. Flashing 3D signs radiated in all directions, floating through the air larger than life—phantom ghost advertisements, brilliant lures. One swung by Amy: a huge roulette wheel with a bouncing steel ball. She reached out to touch it; a ring of light banded her arm and she played with the fantastic illusion. The city made its own stars, because countless colorful lights blocked out the real thing. The sky was packed with projections: Saturn and its glorious rings, dazzling purple nebulae, even entire spiral galaxies—all constantly changing as if the city was rotating under the display. Jim watched Amy’s face; her head rotated in awe at the magnificent city in all its complexity. She scanned the entire thing, spinning around like a slow tornado, sucking it all in. The fountains in the distance! She stopped. She thought of Jessie, and trying the same thing with…
And it didn’t take long before people arrived. The empty city populated as if God dumped a bucket of ants onto the shadows. They came walking from around corners and alleys, from inside the casinos and shops, even driving cars and trucks; noisy traffic clogged the streets. Within five minutes the place was packed with hundreds, even thousands of people—completely transformed. Jim’s awe visibly surpassed Amy’s and he rotated like she’d been doing. His strong chin became weak and dropped. He was so astounded, so completely blown away—like a hand stolen from a puppet, he went limp and fainted right then and there.
“Jim! Jim, are you okay?” Amy asked, kneeling down and shaking him. He awoke easily and sat up quickly. Others surrounding him were also concerned, wanting to help. They left after he composed himself.
“I’ll be all right, just give me a couple minutes.” He had been here many times, but at best there were no more than—shit, forty people or so at any one time—on a good day. He knew the DCs were being generated by Amy’s mind, 99% of them at least. They walked back to the bench and sat together. He plopped onto his butt and sighed.
Amy looked up to see a chopper fly by. It projected a spotlight; the light glimmered in her eye. Some people were arguing in the casino. Security was intervening. An old lady hit a Jackpot inside and was jumping with joy. Tokens were vomited onto the floor: a spinning red light, a ringing bell, jealous faces.
Amy focused on a green traffic light and watched it intensify. Same as before, the more she focused, the more she went into the light, melding with it; time seemed to stop. She could take this perception to infinite depths and kept playing with it. So weird, interesting, she thought. Not like the real world. But who’s to say… She released her focus and shot like a bullet through a gun barrel. In her mind and every sense, gleaming rays of light projected her right back to where she was sitting. I’ll definitely play with this later.
“You better now, Jim? Ready?”
“I’m fine,” Jim replied. “Don’t know what happened. Just freaked out, I guess. Never seen so many.”
“So, where do we start? Do we have to choke everyone?”
Jim chuckled. “Normally we’d take them out one by one, recover from the fatigue then repeat for as many as we could manage, but I’ve never seen so many, not in all my years with the program. I’ve, never seen anything like this.” There was a large black bag at the side of the bench. Jim nudged it a little so Amy would notice. She did. He nodded for her to take a look.
Amy grabbed the hefty leather bag and looked inside. “Wow,” she said. She realized it was the same thing that had been behind his chair at the beach. There were a wide variety of items in the bag: knives, swords, machine guns and ammo, pistols, grenades and, some rather perverse tools.
She reached in and pulled out a shiny double-edged sword and said, “It’s so light.” Jim tugged the bag his way and grabbed a pump-action 12-gauge shotgun. He pulled out a canvas belt loaded with extra shells and wrapped it around his waist. “Holy shit!” Amy wowed.
“I think Ted mentioned to you that some of us enjoy the killing. Such as a sport.” Jim hesitated. “I do. I’ve enjoyed it for some time now. It’s the only thing that keeps me going anymore.”
“Jim. I—”
“But,” he interrupted her, “I admit, and it’s sudden I know. But since I first logged in with you…”
“I’m not judging you, Jim. I want you to know that. We’ve all been through some things.”
He smiled modestly, his head bobbed slightly in content. He wondered: How amazing can she possibly be? He had respect for the young woman. She was opening his eyes, and he enjoyed being with her, genuinely. For the first time in a long time, he…
“I noticed the bandwidth meter was edging on yellow when we logged in,” Amy said seriously. She ran her fingers along the gleaming blade. She touched its edge; a drop of blood fell to the ground.
“Been a difficult week,” he replied.
She looked directly at him, “Well, we’re about to change that!”
Amy had devised a plan yesterday while thinking all day about how on earth she could do this; kill people. Number one: realize they are NOT real; that it really is just a dream. Two: focus her rage and anger. She thought it shouldn’t be hard to do with all she had been through and witnessed growing up. She had to realize first and foremost, what she was fighting for, and give it her all. Her first session on Wednesday triggered painful flashbacks, memories of some truly harrowing experiences. Some of what she had endured was unspeakable. And this would be her way of dealing with them: take all the good, all the bad, the tormenting pain, and mash everything into a ball—use its focused power. My experience is an impenetrable shield nothing can pierce; my resolve is this double-edged sword that I wield according to my own free will. I am Amy!
She bolted into the crowd s
lashing at people left and right. She screamed, “Ahhh!” A head start on Jim. Eyes wide he sprung to catch up and backed her. Aghast, people lost control and started running chaotically in all directions. Amy slashed at the ones who weren’t aware of her. Surprise! The very first victim was a suit who took it in the skull. It was messy, inefficient. She had to work on her aim; practice would help. She had to yank to retrieve the sword from his skull, which dragged her arm downward as the body fell. She propped both feet on his head and pulled, working it back and forth. Blood spritzed, then puddled after getting it out.
About-facing the disarray, she spotted two tightly dressed young men sharing earphones and kissing each other. She leapt over the bench in between them. It was two women, not men. One was cute with thick brows; the other not so, with shaved brows thinly redrawn. Thick-brow had a lean, high-cheek-boned pretty face; the other was beefy, angular, and big-chinned. Beefy responded quickly, enraging instantly, until the bloody sword stole their attention. Amy charged it with kinetic energy before they could scream. She bent at the knees and put the steel at their throats, clipping the mighty chin of thin-brow. Thick-brow fell first, gurgling blood; her scrawny self curled into a ball and her head knocked a dull thud on the brick walk. Thin-brow landed on top of her, impacting hard enough to dislodge the round chin hanging by a mere thread. It rolled down the grade, falling between a palm and its grated border.
Gross. I can’t do this. I can. They’re NOT real, Amy, she thought to herself. But I am getting better all ready.
People had cleared her immediate area save for a red-dressed brunette clumsily trying to run away in high heels. Toward the street Amy trailed her like a ninja to a turtle, and cleanly halved both calf muscles. Her scream was deafening, a true supernova among the chaos. Petrified and lying on the ground, the woman rolled to face her attacker. Her fingers tensely gnarled, her wig falling off, she exploded with terror, her face a rainstorm of makeup-dismantling tears. Instinctively she raised both arms in defense as Amy delivered the steel. She drove it straight in, pinning her left arm into her chest at the heart. With faithful power she jerked it out. The woman’s face and eyes opened, widely agape. A red geyser painted Amy vertically from head to chest; her face was sober, undaunted—glossy with determination.