by M. K. Gibson
Cheers went up from the patrons and from me as well. It was a time to celebrate. We had lived. We survived when we weren’t supposed to. I couldn’t think of a better reason to drink.
“Cat!” I called out to the vixen as she schmoozed with a couple of Midheim warriors. “I know you quit, but it wouldn’t feel right, not right now, if a Spinoli wasn’t behind the bar.” She stood and did a little pirouette. She threw off the jacket one of the warriors had given her. Still wearing the next-to-nothing outfit, she walked to the bar, swaying her round ass, then hopped up and brought her legs over the bar and took her place slinging drinks.
“Maz, music!” I yelled out. Another cheer went up.
“Requests?” the new archbishop asked as he made his way to the bar’s digi-player.
“Social Distortion. ‘When the Angels Sing.’”
“Had to be angels.” Maz shook his head, but he played the song.
The rock prophet Mike Ness belted out the mournful tune and I soaked it in. The music filled the place and Cat made sure everyone had a drink. We toasted the dead over and over. We told war stories and we lived. The way God meant for us to live.
Maybe, just maybe, that was his plan all along. If he truly was infinite in scope and knowledge, then he would have known we were eventually going to clone his only son. He would have known he was going to leave us to the mercy of Hell. He would have known we were supposed to fight back and find our own way.
Our way.
Or, I was just spinning the whole ordeal as a positive. I took a sip and a drag. Who knows. One thing I did know, according to the Bible, was that God once said, “Vengeance is mine.” And in a moment, it would be mine.
More music played and more booze flowed. People rejoiced and partied. Sunrise in the district was full of food and song. Ricky called in some of his choice male and female eye candy to continue serving drinks.
In time, the noise attracted some of the locals. People came out of their homes in the early morning that day and smiled. They all had heard music and revelry before. But that was always at night, and the emotion behind it was lustful and destructive. No, this was joy. It was at the height of the party when I decided to crap all over it.
“Everyone, everyone!” I shouted. Cat handed me a wireless mic from behind the bar. I gave it a couple of taps to make sure it was on. Once I got the feedback, I spoke again.
“Kill the music, kill the music. Everyone, I have something to say.” I stood atop the bar and raised my glass of whiskey. “I would like to announce the formation of a new subdistrict. The people of Midheim are moving onto my land. Any space I have left over I offer to any of you. But our new home needs a name.”
“Midheim 2!” yelled one of the warriors.
“No!” answered Vidar sternly. “Midheim is gone.”
“My brother is right.” Vali stood. “Midheim was our home. It was a place in time that served us. That time has passed. A new name for a new home.”
Father Grimm said something from the corner booth where he sat in the shadows. I couldn’t quite make it out, as he’d said it into his glass.
“Say again?” I asked.
“Löngutangar,” Grimm said again, louder, as he took another swallow of his drink.
The room was quiet. Ricky, Vali, and Vidar looked at each other and began to laugh. The rest of the room looked perplexed. Shit, I didn’t even know what he said.
“Come again?”
“Vali once said that Midheim was a middle finger to the demonic nobility of New Golgotha. Löngutangar literally means ‘the middle finger’ in old Icelandic.”
Oh, that was just perfect. One big fucking middle finger to the demon highborn who thought humans were made to serve them. We would be just that. We would grow and become our own little piece of heaven. Yeah, Löngutangar. I could work with that.
“Löngutangar it is, then. Unless anyone has any objections?”
No one spoke. Just solemn quiet, a few nodding heads, and pride.
Pride in what was to come. Pride in what we could and would accomplish. Corny as it sounds, it felt good.
“Then on to the next important thing,” I said. “I would like to honor those we have lost. I would like to honor those who have lived.” Many people roared in agreement while tapping their bottles and glasses on the tables.
“There is one man who we can thank for it. One man we can thank for it all. One man who ensured Midheim was attacked. One man who sold you all out. Sold me out. One man who tried to have me killed. One man whose actions ensured some of our friends were killed.” I turned and pointed.
“Jensen, take a bow. You fucking piece of shit.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Blood and Fluid
Jensen just stared at me. I couldn’t see his eyes, of course, through his visor. But he didn’t move. In my head I imagined a different reaction.
Like him turning white or him looking around doing the “What are you talking about?” routines that you see in so many books and movies. But not Jensen. No, he just sat there reclined in his chair, one arm thrown casually back while the other held his glass on the table. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t move. He barely breathed deeply. Everything about him was calm.
It was really pissing me off.
The quiet in the room went on for only few seconds, but it felt like hours. Finally, I broke first.
“You staged the fight with the Kitsune and his Cyberai. You hired them. Didn’t you?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t answer. Jensen lit a smoke and stared at me with that emotionless visor. I took his deep exhale and continued silence as my cue to continue. “You took his visor after the fight. So I wouldn’t see it was you who hired them.” I lit my own smoke and got myself another drink.
“That’s why you gave me the file on Grimm. Trying to get me to think he was some kind of monster. You were hoping I would what? Take him out? Or maybe he would kill me? When I was gone for those weeks, who did you report to? Who did you tell? The fires at Grimm’s had been burning for a while. So what, did the horde look for us there first, then track us to Midheim? Huh?!” I slammed my glass on the bar and flicked my smoke away, hopping off the bar and crossing the distance between us. I slammed my hands down on the table, breaking it. “Answer me, you fuck!”
“Took you long enough,” Jensen said.
Cold. Emotionless.
“I was really getting sick of this shit job, watching Ricky for the princes, reporting on his every fucking action. You were at least a distraction. It was fun sometimes. Then ‘Father Spooky’ came along, brought in by Ricky. Suddenly the princes needed to know even more.” Jensen stared down at his hands for a moment. It looked like he was debating on what to say next. Or perhaps how to say it.
“I, I tried actually. I really did. I tried to get you out of it. You were supposed to read the dossier I made and walk away from this. All of it was true. But you already know that. Then you came back with him. War buddies. And that was it. You know, I wanted to be your friend. But you always kept me away. Always at arm’s length.” Jensen stopped looking at his hands and looked right at me. “So, fuck it. And fuck you.” His face was a stern mask of contempt. He was trying to make the words hurt. They didn’t.
“What about the others? The people that were taken. The people that have died because of you.”
“Fuck them too.”
Caitlin hopped the bar rail and her cybernetic arm bristled with live ordnance and primed energy weapons. If a mosquito sneezed, she would fire. I also noticed no one in the room was trying to stop her. She leveled her weapon arm at Jensen’s temple.
“What about Theresa?” Cat asked, barely above a whisper. Her arm began to shake from all the self-control she was exuding to keep Jensen’s brains residing in his skull and not decorating the wall.
Jensen took his time. He sipped at his drink. He was cold. Frosty. He turned his head to face Cat. His mouth was a sneer. “Fuck her the most.”
The room held their collective breath, wa
iting for the shot. It never came.
“Didn’t think so. For all your tough talk, you are just a wannabe. Your sister, though, she was a tough one. But she got what was coming to her. Playing in the deep end of the pool with the big kids. Ricky tried to warn her away. But she wouldn’t listen. She was trying to become big time. I tried to warn her, I always did. I was always nice to her, and to you. But I was always just Jensen the door man.”
Caitlin pressed the weapon arm hard into Jensen’s temple. He just smiled. “Is that your bullshit hang-up?” Cat asked. “You have a mad on because Salem found a new friend and because neither my sister nor I would throw you a pity fuck?”
“You know . . . ” Jensen chose his next words very carefully. As if staring down death was nothing new for him. Cat may have been lenient so far. But the Cat I knew was just giving Jensen enough rope to hang himself with.
“You know she always hated you, right? It’s true.” Jensen rubbed his haystack hair and then lit another smoke. Oblivious to—or not caring about—the weapon aimed at him.
“Being a girl’s best friend does have some benefits. The confiding. When Salem fucked you instead of her, it drove her mad with jealousy. Your skimpy outfits. Your attitude. They were just more things your sister despised about you. She always assumed the men would realize you were nothing more than the slutty whore trash that you are and see that she was something special. That’s when she told me she’d rather be dead than see Salem with you. I guess she got her wish.”
“Fucker!” Caitlin screamed, high-pitched and shrill. She fired her weapon arm at full blast.
But Jensen simply wasn’t there.
I couldn’t track him. It wasn’t that he moved fast, or that he was invisible. He simply vanished. He was there one moment, and then he was behind her. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled back hard with one hand and with the other he ripped her cybernetic arm off with a sick, wet popping sound. The ball and socket joint that the arm filled came free in a wrenching tear of flesh and a spray of blood.
Cat screamed, twisted and fell to the ground. I rushed to help her as the room exploded into movement. Jensen was suddenly near the main doors. He whipped Cat’s arm at me hard as I advanced. The ARCTech limb slammed me hard enough to put me on my ass. I knew Jensen was cybernetically strong. But that was major league. Cat fell to the ground, blood and fluid pooling around her.
“Grimm!” I croaked and pointed to Cat. He nodded. Grimm jumped to stand over Cat. He jammed a glowing finger in the bleeding artery, staunching the flood of blood. He simultaneously raised a fist above them both, creating a small dome of protective energy.
“She needs help and fast!” Grimm yelled.
“I got this,” Ricky said, strolling almost casually over to Grimm and Caitlin. “Salem, deal with this guy. We’ll be back after dropping Cat off at the Patchwork Clinic.” That white light began to glow around the corners of Ricky’s sunglasses once more. He slapped his hands together and Ricky, Grimm, and Cat were all gone.
“That’s a new one for the report,” Jensen said, and it brought my attention back around to him. Most of the bar patrons had scattered to the recesses of Dante’s. Except the warriors, Val, Vidar, and Maz. They all circled Jensen and he looked like he couldn’t care less. In fact, the asshole smiled. “All at once, fellas, or one at a time?”
Jensen shuffled from one foot to another, like a boxer getting ready, rolling his shoulders and working his neck. He motioned for me to come at him. Normally I would just get in the mix and rip his head off. But I took pause this time. Not because he was my friend. “Was” being the key word. But because I had recently gone toe-to-toe in aerial combat with an archduke and fought freaking zombies. I was tapped. Also, I had no idea of the extent of Jensen’s tech implants.
Being head of Ricky’s security meant he was formidable. The meat-head idiot bouncers that walked around Dante’s nightly were mostly for show. Jensen was smart and deadly. And it seemed that he could teleport at will.
“Come on, buddy. You know you always wondered who was better. I always assumed I would rip your head off. But then things changed,” Jensen taunted.
“How long have you known?”
“That you were a cyborg? For a lot longer than you’d think. The princes tend to keep tabs on potential troublemakers. Immortals seem to always be on that list.” Jensen closed in and threw a fast boxer combo: two left jabs, overhand right, left-right hook. I bobbed and weaved but the last hook caught my jaw. I rolled with the punch, dipped down, and swayed back at Jensen. I reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder and rammed my knee hard into his ribs. I felt them give a little. He grunted, but they didn’t break as planned.
Plan B. I picked him up and swung him over my head and planted him on his ass. As he scrambled to get up, I pinned him down hard with my elbow on his neck.
“Still feel like you can take my head off, asshole?”
“You’re stronger than the reports led me to believe.” Jensen gasped for breath. “But reports were right about one thing. Cocky and stupid.” Jensen suddenly vanished and my full weight slammed into the ground, jarring my elbow. A rabbit punch at the base of skull made my vision go dark for a moment while I saw stars. Shit, that hurt. I didn’t think I was cocky, but I was beginning to agree with stupid. I had seen him teleport before and I’d completely forgotten about it while fighting. Bastard had to be using SBE, Short-Burst Evac tech. Developed during the second war, after portable fusion was safely created, the tech folded two points in space-time and moved a soldier past barriers. It was dangerous and prolonged use messed with the human brain.
Jensen bounced on the balls of his feet, shadowboxing. “I always hated that mixed martial arts shit. No beauty or science in it. Just strikes and grapples. Like two dogs fighting to the ground.” Jensen came in again as I tried to stand, cracking my skull with his enhanced speed and strength.
“I really wish I’d had a chance to fight you when you were at your best,” Jensen boasted, stepping back, still bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Come back in a few days then, asshole,” I said, panting. I got to all fours and wiped the blood from my mouth and nose.
“Wish I could. But I have to report back in and lord only knows if I will get the chance. Might as well break your neck right now. Put you out of your misery.”
“Salem?” Vidar asked. He didn’t have to say much. I knew what he and his men wanted. I just held up my hand to hold them off. Jensen just looked around as if noticing the warriors. He looked at them all with contempt.
“New family, huh? They seem to like you. That’s good. Everyone needs family. Well, fuck you and your new family.” Jensen pulled out a high-yield military issue plasma grenade. “If you interfere, this goes off. Boom. You hillbillies understand that?”
“Jensen!” I yelled, getting his attention.
“What?!”
I threw a quick jab at his jaw. He stepped away from the attack boxer style, and muscle memory kicked in. He jabbed back at me with the fist holding the grenade. I grabbed his wrist in both hands and jumped backwards, planting both feet in Jensen’s chest. I kicked hard with both feet while igniting my pulse boots and pulled.
I ripped his arm off.
Caitlin’s wound was bad. This was worse. Cat had her arm amputated years ago, and the violent removal opened that surgery. Jensen’s arm was still human. The cybernetic implants were subdermal. The sound of the flesh rending and bone snapping was drowned out from my pulse boot and his screaming. So I did what any good friend would do.
I beat him in the face with his own arm.
After putting the grenade back into safe mode, and pocketing it, of course, I wailed on his head with his own bloody stump.
“You. Back. Stabbing. Ass. Hole. Mother. Fucker!” I yelled, hitting with each word, accentuating the point. Jensen’s blood splattered everywhere as I beat him over the face. Jensen whispered two words. Just two words and I stopped, stunned.
Jensen rolled on the f
loor in agony. His breath was short, labored ragged breaths. “We will destroy it all. Hail the mark.” And then he vanished. I turned around, expecting another attack from behind, but no one was there. I turned a few more times, and nothing. No attack came. With a wound like that, he had ported away, no doubt for medical attention.
What he said messed with my head. I doubt anyone else heard. It was only a whisper. As if it had been meant for my ears only.
“Some friend you have there,” Vali said, approaching me. I nodded, coming out of deep thoughts.
“No shit.”
“Drinks?” Vidar asked, and I agreed. We all moved back to the bar. Except Maz. He stood by the spot where I had ripped off Jensen’s arm. He was on all fours on the floor tasting the blood puddle.
“Maz?” I asked. “What are you doing?”
“It tastes . . . off,” he said, sniffing it, and then tasting it once more.
“That is really gross, bud.”
Maz shrugged. He didn’t care what humans thought. A moment later he joined us at the bar and poured himself four fingers of cheap tequila.
“There was something off in his blood.”
“He was a cyborg.”
“Yeah, I know. I have tasted cyborg blood. No, his was more like . . .”
“Like what?”
“Yours.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Land Baron Salem
Many hours later, and many bottles of booze later, Vidar and Vali took the remaining warriors to a couple of the upstairs suites to sleep it off. They would leave the next morning to prepare for the move to my home and what would be Löngutangar. I sat in an empty Dante’s with Ricky and Grimm, smoking cigars from Ricky’s private humidor. I mean, hell, you always take a smoke from a man with his own humidor.
I wondered if Ricky counted as a “man” at all. I looked at him as he reclined back in his chair. He had his cigar in his mouth and his hands were folded behind his head as he bounced his biceps in tune to the music from the jukebox. His sunglasses were still on, so I couldn’t tell, but I gathered his eyes were closed.