Escapology

by Ren Warom

  “Even so. Just in case,” says Shock, with a smile.

  Tough as this guy is, Shock’s a realist. This is a one-way trip. He knew that before he started, and he’s okay with it. Really. He’s okay.

  Good Company and a Good Day to Die

  Watching artificial lights flash past in darkness, Amiga thinks back to the day everything changed. The day she met Deuce. She’d been in the dark for so long she didn’t even recognize it as darkness. It was life. Survival. Bunking in the same Shimli apartment she had in Tech, an absolute shit-hole she hardly ever saw. Avoiding sleep had become her religion. At that point she didn’t recognize why. She barely recognized her face in a mirror. Amiga the Cleaner wasn’t anyone she knew. Still isn’t.

  She met Deuce after buying takeaway shrimp pad thai from some nothing little noodle bar in Sakkura. Half a street away she bit into the shrimp and realized it was that disgusting reconstituted protein shit they try to pass for shrimp if they think you’re a bit dumb. It was that assumption more than the substitute itself that drove her rage, her decision to go back and rip the shit out of the poor sap behind the till. We share our hurt, oh boy do we ever.

  Deuce was ordering chilli beef ramen when she bust back in, all snarls and vicious fury, bringing with her fear that infected everyone in the shop. Except him. He smiled at her. She caught his eye, that smile, and the rage drained away. Left her standing there, hollowed out. She doesn’t even remember leaving, only that he followed her, noodleless, and invited her for a coffee. She still has no idea why she said yes. Still has no regrets. But meeting him was like a light switched on unexpectedly, illuminating grime on the walls, damp and mildew, cockroaches huddled in the cracks, chittering.

  Horrified to find herself amongst such filth, Amiga ran from it. She moved in with the Hornets, and began to do things that felt like living rather than dying. And she slept, curled up in the warmth of his body. Real, refreshing sleep. For a while, she felt almost free, like she could actually breathe instead of trying to suck air in a vacuum. She can’t pinpoint the moment it stopped working. But it did. Cracks had formed somewhere inside, and she sank into them: lost herself again.

  That’s when she dumped Deuce.

  She did it without warning, via IM, lacking the courage to say it to his face. She has no idea how he’s forgiven her for that, but he has. And the Hornets… She expected them to close ranks around him, ask her to leave. Instead, they remained her friends, her family, no questions asked. She’s pretty sure the Hornets have been the saving of her, even if the lesson’s taken a while to sink in.

  It’s only recently that the lights inside her have begun to flicker on again, unexpectedly, focusing with painful brightness on the parts of her life that still interface directly with death. There’s a darkness there, so profound it terrifies her, and all the rage, all the annoyance she directs at life, at Deuce, at circumstance, is redirected from that darkness, her frustrating reliance upon it. She wanted to find the courage to do what’s right, but she’s been too afraid that she’s incapable of doing anything right. Anything healthy.

  Some actions have greater consequences than others. Her recent actions with Twist almost lost her Deuce. Nothing makes that okay, and all her bad choices led to that moment, seeing him lying there, sure he wasn’t breathing. It can’t happen again. What she’s going to do today has to constitute a full stop. After this, if she survives, she’ll have to find another way to live.

  “This is the last time,” she says to herself.

  “For what?”

  Deuce.

  She realizes he’s been watching her. He does that. It’d be creepy if she didn’t find it so fucking reassuring.

  “Killing. I don’t want to do it any more. After today, I’m not going to.”

  “What if you need to?”

  “Need is different,” she says quietly. “Need is to defend or protect. What I meant was, after today, I’m not a Cleaner any more. I fucking quit.”

  Deuce smiles at her, just like the first time. If only she knew what that smile meant, she’s never seen him show it to anyone else.

  “’Bout fucking time,” he says, serious, not even a little bit of heat in it. “Let’s go hand in your notice.”

  From a large bag at his feet he pulls out a bulky semi-automatic and begins a series of efficient, practiced checks. Handing it along, he pulls out another gun and starts again, until everyone has a gun. Including him.

  “Uh… thought you were staying in the engine? Thought maybe Ravi and KJ should stay behind too.”

  He offers her a very real, very pissed starring role in his line of sight. Ouch. She prefers the smile.

  “Why?”

  Riding her fury and terrified for him, for Ravi and KJ, Amiga gets aggro, communes with her inner bitch.

  “You’re physically fucked, KJ’s melon’s all fracked up and Ravi’s the fucking doc. We need him to prevent us from dying, not to die himself. Not. Much. Use.”

  “Gee, thanks, Amiga.” Ravi.

  Just about reining in her frustration, Amiga snaps, “You know what I mean, Ravi. Surely?”

  “No,” Deuce tells her. “No, he doesn’t. He just sees your problem. Your fucking ever present problem.”

  “And what in fuck would that be, Deuce?”

  Deuce leans over the gun on his lap.

  “Your problem, Amiga, is that you only see people in terms of yourself, and we all fail to match up, whether we could or not. I get it. I get the difference between what you do and what we’ve done. But you need to quit underestimating us. We’ve earned it.”

  Amiga runs out of words to argue with. Deuce is right, as usual. The Hornets saved her and Shock both today, she owes them some fucking credit whether she likes it or not. And oh man does she ever hate it, not because they’re useless; because she can’t control anything that happens today, and she needs to if their lives are at stake as well as her own. Sighing, she straps her crossbow into a chest harness.

  “Just be careful, okay? This is Twist’s territory. His people are everywhere and I’m number one on their Cleaning list right now. I won’t be able to watch any back but mine no matter how much I want to.”

  Vivid throws her a smile, and a candy bar, brightly wrapped.

  “We know it, shug. And if we all survive today, you can buy us all a fucking beer to apologize for insulting the shit out of us right there. Jeez but you are hard motherfuckin’ work.”

  “Preach it, Vee,” KJ calls out, toasting her with his candy bar.

  * * *

  The Sendai Station elevator comes out in the back of a rather swish apartment block a ten-minute walk from Denenchofu Plaza. Needless to say, they get some looks, which they ignore. Deuce steals a cater-bike as soon as they’re street-level and leaves with Raid to go crack security.

  They’d tried to crack the Engine for that, but the damn thing was too complex, despite being old as all hell and Deuce had to give up, muttering something about needing to borrow Shock’s fucking avi to get anything done. The rest of the group, forty-three including Amiga, take a circuitous route to Central Gardens to give Deuce and Raid time to crack them a way in.

  Almost to the plaza, Amiga, keeping point, shoves out an arm to stop everyone.

  “What is it?” Vivid asks quietly, moving forward to stand beside her.

  Amiga points to the cadre of vans parked, haphazard, in the roadway before the plaza, not usually used for such a thing, but these vehicles were in a hurry.

  “Twist. He came home.”

  Vivid nods. “Good.”

  “Good? Really?”

  “Yeah, bitch, of course good! Now you get to kill him.” The last is said as if it’s a thick slice of chocolate cake Vivid can’t wait to sink teeth into.

  Oh. Point. And wow Vivid’s more vicious than Amiga took her for. Probably this is what Deuce meant. She does underestimate them. Vivid’s no Cleaner, but her nasty streak is definitely more developed than Amiga’s. And it looks like she owns that shit, a huge
grin plastered across her face as she contemplates mass crime-lord minion massacre.

  Vivid pats her on the back, and gestures the rest of the Hornets out into a semi-circle. They’re all low and gun ready, professional as hell to Amiga’s critical gaze. Have they done this before?

  “We’ve done this before,” Vivid murmurs, as if reading Amiga’s mind. “Not with someone like Twist, granted, but it’s a fact guys like him don’t always send in the Cleaners. Sometimes they hire a bunch like us to go in and take out the competition. It pays better than hacking, so we’ve never yet turned it down.”

  “You’ve helped guys like Twist stay on top?”

  “Just like you have, shug. Devil you know, innit?”

  Point two to Vivid. She’s on a winning streak, or else Amiga’s been an ignorant bitch. Unattractive as it might be, she’s pretty sure the latter is closest to the truth.

  Vivid indicates for Amiga to follow her into the plaza and, without question, she does. They haven’t underestimated Twist; she can feel the tension throughout the group, the hyper-awareness. The Hornets know what they’re doing, and it’s about time she started working with them, instead of for herself. Frankly, after all she’s learnt about the sheer depth of her dumb-assery, she no longer wants to be self-employed.

  They reach the complex and slip around to the maintenance entrances at the side, where they wait until Deuce and Raid coast up on the bike. Deuce chucks a bag to Vivid. She hands out passkeys to all the Hornets and they go in two by two, not bothering to make it seem random, and head for the shoots. Deuce takes his goggles off and holds them out to Amiga. She tries to refuse, but he drapes them around her right wrist and takes her hands in his. IMs her direct, so she can’t ignore him.

  There’re forty-five of us, over one hundred of them. I’ve been careful, left as minimal a trail as I can, but he’ll be onto the breach before we get to him. He’ll be ready. I’m staying down in the building control-centre with Raid, we have some surprises planned. Be prepared. You’ll know when to strike, and you’ll need these. Okay?

  His hands are warm. Feeling them on hers she understands just how cold she’s been without them. Without him. Too late now to change that, but she can show him how much she trusts him.

  Okay.

  He smiles, lets go of her hands and coasts the bike away, back toward the control building nestled in the trees behind the plaza. Takes half of her with him, as he always has. How long is it she’s been denying that? Too long. Pulling the goggles onto her head, she nods to Vivid and they enter the building, make their way to the shoots. This will be the first time Amiga’s ever taken them. Kinda fitting when this is the last time she’s ever coming here.

  When Amiga and Vivid reach Twist’s house, gunfire is already raging between the Hornets and Twist’s troops. Taking shelter behind the rock garden to join the gunfight, Amiga IMs Vivid.

  I need to get inside. Deuce has something planned. You guys stay out here. Reckon he’s going to light the competition.

  Vivid nods. Sounds like Deuce. She pauses, then sucks in her top lip before blurting abruptly, He’s single, y’know. Broke up with Fen Maa weeks ago.

  Amiga stops firing. Stares.

  “What?”

  Vivid’s eyes shoot wide.

  “Hey, IM, bitch,” she mutters, and adds, Just thought you should know, because fuck knows he’s not going to get around to telling you. You guys make stubborn look downright cooperative.

  Well shit. There’s a thing Amiga does not know what to do with. Packing it away for the moment, deep down, where it can’t affect the decisions she makes today, Amiga continues firing, sticking to her gun for now rather than the crossbow and waiting for whatever it is Deuce and Raid have planned. It’s taking a long time.

  Minutes go by. Losses begin to pile up on both sides. Most on Twist’s, but he’s got more to lose. Six minutes passes like an hour. Two more Hornets go down, no time to check whether injured or dead, six more of Twist’s troops. Then the building hums all over. And the lights go out.

  Snapping the goggles over her eyes, Amiga hits night vision and heads for the house, skirting around the troops hunkered in the garden. Geo’s at the front door, his entire bulk taking it up. Damn. She has no desire to kill him, he’s no fighter. But where’s choice when you need it?

  Lifting her wrist, Amiga takes him out quick with a dart to the head. She jumps lightly over his body and runs through to the back room, toward three heat signatures, the only ones in the house. Outside, the lights come back up like Christmas. Every roof light pointed at Twist’s, lighting the competition, and judging by the gunfire, the shouts cut off midway, the Hornets are already taking them out.

  There’ll be no lights in here. No sudden exposure and blinding. Surprise is the only weapon available, and Amiga uses it well, firing her crossbow several times into Twist’s heat signature as she enters the back room. He goes down hard, vibrating the wooden floor, and the Guns are on her before she can react, swords cutting at her arms, her torso.

  They get in several good slices before she spins out of their way, firing as she goes. Her bolts take out the knees of one, rattle across the torso of the other and they hit the floor, one after the other; all of it in absolute silence.

  Seeing her sister fall, Gun Two’s mouth gapes in soundless horror. She scrambles across the floor, dragging her legs behind her. Grabs Gun One’s hand and starts making shapes with it, trying to speak, but her sister’s hand just falls open every time and Gun Two curls over it, her shoulders heaving.

  Amiga’s shocked to find herself choking back tears. Not helpful. Gun Two won’t cry for long, she’ll get up and kill Amiga. Emotion won’t change that. Tomorrow she can feel all of this, feel as sick and tired and inhuman as she likes; today, right now, she hasn’t time. Amiga lifts the crossbow and takes out Gun Two with a clean shot to the head that makes her feel unclean.

  Before Gun One stops breathing, Amiga’s checking herself over through blurring eyes. The cut in her side is deepest, her fingers slipping into slick flesh, sending a shot of pain darting between belly and knees. Warm blood soaks her shirt, seeps down her trousers. Weigh it up, Amiga. How much more blood can you lose? Not much. Holding her side with her injured arm she goes to make sure Twist is down for good. He’s lying face to the floor. Wincing, she shoves him back over with her foot. Finds herself staring at a stranger.

  “What?”

  The light comes on, blinding her. Swearing, she flings off the goggles.

  From behind her, Twist says, “Soft as well as stupid. Tears for my Guns? Really? They’re tools. Like you were.”

  Amiga daren’t turn. Can’t bear to witness the look on his face. And here she thought collective blood loss was her biggest obstacle to remaining alive. Wow, how wrong can you be? She hears him cocking his gun, deliberately slow. He’s going to enjoy this.

  “I’m not going to enjoy this.” Liar. “It’s too fucking easy. I’m not a fan of easy. It feels like cheating.”

  As he talks, Amiga closes her eyes and turns the crossbow, careful not to give away movement. This might kill her, it might not. Who cares? Either way she’s pretty much a goner. Unlike Twist, she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t speak, she just pulls the fucking trigger as many times as she can before her hand stops working. It’s painless going in, hurts like hell on the way out, but she’s smiling as she hears the thuds of bolts striking flesh. Hears Twist’s “Oh” of surprise. They fall together, hit the floor like a heartbeat, bah-dump. Last thing she thinks about before the darkness comes is what Vivid said about Deuce.

  Funny how late is always too late.

  The Towering Infernal

  Out of the station elevator, Shock leads the pirates to the shoot he cracked with Puss, a dull grey capsule almost too small to hold them all. It rises smoothly, eating up the floors to reach the 498th in minutes and without that peculiar belly sensation of too-fast movement. Shock turns to Petrie before the doors open.

  “I’ve isolated control fro
m the mainframe,” he murmurs. “But that’s no guarantee they won’t wrestle it back. Do not rely on this as an escape route once they’re alerted to our presence.”

  Petrie nods tersely. “That’s a given.”

  They burst from the shoot in small groups, scattering to cover and ready to fire, but no one’s there. The whole stone terrace, and the long atrium beyond, studded with islands of trees and ornate pots, drowns in oppressive, ringing silence. None of the usual piped music is playing, and the mechanical birds found in these wealthy buildings are either deactivated or gone. The unexpected emptiness has every alarm in Shock’s slow-to-react skull blaring.

  “Too fuckin’ quiet,” Petrie says, gesturing his teams out ahead to the right and left of the terrace, close to the walls. “Don’t think we’re here first.” Keeping Shock just behind him, he moves to the left, asking over his shoulder, “These Harmonys, we’ve heard rumours, but they really that crazy?”

  “Oh yeah. Completely off the rez.”

  “Fuck.”

  “You got that right.”

  Petrie flashes a hand signal and everyone peels out in swift formation into the atrium, using the islands of trees as cover. It’d be perfect if their footsteps didn’t ring on the polished stone floor, giving away their position. Still, gunfire takes them off guard, crude in the silence, coming from troops concealed behind the islands up ahead.

  The heavy hail of bullets penetrates the foliage with ease, laying out seven of their fifty-strong party in under ten seconds, spattering white stone and bright foliage in Rorschach patterns of blood and gore. Petrie barks out an order to take deeper cover and begins to return fire, dragging Shock behind one of the bulbous plant pots against the wall.

  Careening in behind Petrie’s broad back, Shock succumbs to dizziness. His head cramps. Pulses like a flash migraine. Seems to disintegrate at the core, becoming heavy, molten—threatening eruption. His body responds with fever, a cold sweat sluicing his skin. He was expecting this, but not so soon. Surely it’s too soon, no matter how dire Volk’s prognosis was?