They could keep their gunship, belatedly identified by Onryo as a Dragonfly variant. Reiji had no intention of flying anywhere. And there was always the possibility that he wouldn’t even be able to control the thing. He had other plans for its immediate future.
As he approached, the gunship banked to the left once more, slightly away from him and began to rise into the air. Still no problem, he mused as Onryo knelt to slide beneath it. The Oni struck upwards, into the belly of the aircraft with the weapon taken from his fallen foe.
There it was, just as Onryo had predicted. The perfect target, left exposed by the removal of some armored plating that seemed unnecessary when long rang weapons were taken out of the equation. Something about better fuel efficiency passed through Reiji’s mind as he moved.
There was a screeching noise as the point of the Oni’s new blade contacted a spinning disc, glowing bright blue. A shower of sparks began to pour down over the Oni, and Onryo released the blade. The gunship lifted into the air, speeding directly up and leaving Reiji and the courtyard of Tower Two far below. Trailing sparks of a strangely beautiful blue-green color.
Reiji could hear intercepted radio chatter once more, the panicking pilot of the aircraft not bothering to speak in code. He was reporting that the fugitive had escaped from custody and been armed when the extraction team arrived to secure him. The combat exoskeleton and pilot assigned to the extraction team had been destroyed and the gunship damaged to an unknown extent.
The response was spoken in a coded language that merely sounded like gibberish to Reiji, but the pilot signaled his receipt of the orders. The gunship lowered slightly, still trailing sparks from the bright disc on its belly, and circled the tower once before rapidly accelerating.
The aircraft seemed stable at first, and then lost control and slammed directly into the high point of Tower Two. The vehicle exploded, showering the already burning buildings of Tower Two with flaming debris and stones knocked from the walls.
For a brief moment, the only sounds in the courtyard were the rumbling of the APC’s engines and the crackling of flames.
Reiji took in his surroundings. Men and women stood frozen in terror at what they’d just seen. Standing where they’d tried to find some safe distance between the burning building and the maniac killing everyone who got near him. Two dozen or so in total. Reiji walked back to the fallen combat exoskeleton, and put one foot on its back. Pure showmanship, he hoped.
“Hear me,” Reiji began. Onryo’s voice warping and eyes burning red as his words carried over the whole of the courtyard. “The gate will be opened. Now.” There was no room for discussion.
“If the gate is not opened, and the APC does not pass through it safely to the outside, then I will kill everyone here.” The words echoed for a moment, and then faded into the night air. Suddenly men moved to obey.
“Tod,” Reiji spoke from inside the Oni, reaching the radio within the APC.
“I’m here, Rage!” The boy yelled in response, causing Reiji to wince against the pain in his ears.
“Drive the APC through the tunnel, the way we talked about earlier. I will walk along behind you. If anyone gets in your way, run them over.” And if they drop a huge fucking boulder on you, like last time, I’ll kill them, he thought to himself.
The gates leading out from the courtyard of Tower Two, and into the long tunnel they had attempted to pass through just before their capture, opened. The APC lined up and drove through, clipping the edge of the gate and knocking stones loose from their mortar.
Reiji moved to the dead heavy footmen he’d faced earlier. Their weapons were large for a man, but just the right size for the Oni. He grabbed one in each hand. Much smaller than the Claymore, but nothing he couldn’t use effectively. After grabbing the blades, Onryo turned and quickly walked to tunnel, boring a hole through the nearest men and women with his gaze as he did so. Leaving enough space between himself and the APC that he could see anything happening on either side of it.
“How does the tunnel look?” Reiji asked.
“All clear Rage!” Tod yelled again, causing a ringing in Reiji’s ears. He turned and looked behind him to make sure they weren’t being followed. Men ran about the far side of the courtyard, mostly preoccupied with preventing the spread of the fire. The few that looked towards him did so with mixed fear and awe on their faces. Exactly what he’d been going for.
Reiji turned back to the tunnel. It was dimly lit and seemed to lead on forever. Onryo’s enhanced night vision activated, showing him the tunnel as if it was well lit. Two dark spaces in the ceiling drew his attention. The spots from where the huge slabs of granite had fallen to block the path of the APC the first time through.
The blocks had been removed from the tunnel, but had not been returned to their initial place.
“Okay,” Reiji began. “If the gate isn’t opened by the time you get there, I want you to drive through it. Just rev the engines if you understand.” With the last statement, he hoped to avoid another earful of Tod screaming.
The engines of the APC revved and the armored vehicle lurched forwards before returning to its normal pace. Reiji kept his head on a swivel looking for any possible threat. None presented itself. Perhaps, he thought, these fuckers are smart enough to know when they’re beaten.
The APC drew close to the gate, still unopened, and began gaining speed. At the last possible moment the huge door began creaking open, the hydraulic jacks that moved it making their distinctive whine. Too late for the occupants of Fort Houston Tower Two though. The gates had just barely begun to crack when the APC slammed into them, crumpling them outwards.
Reiji began to run, searching hard for any sign of treachery, but there was none to be found. A few seconds later he stepped out onto the dry, rocky plain, dotted with miserable scrub that seemed to cling to the rocks for dear life, stretching in all directions before Tower Two.
The APC slowed just long enough for him to catch up and step into the rear. He looked back at Fort Houston, growing smaller in the distance, blades still clenched in hand.
Unbelievably, they had both escaped. And not only escaped, but they’d done so without injury and sent more than a few of their enemies screaming straight to hell. There had never been doubt in Reiji’s mind that he would make it out. The second a blade was in his hand, in his own mind, he was as good as invincible.
But the boy…well, he’d thought the boy would likely die during their escape. Not only had the boy survived, he’d proved to be a formidable warrior.
Tod the ‘Tard, Reiji thought and laughed to himself. Terror of the wastes. The kid had the makings of a great warrior. Under Reiji’s tutelage, he knew how far he could go? His penchant for throwing pieces hacked from the bodies of his enemies at precisely the right moment was… well, it was something.
Seeing in his mind’s eye the severed head thrown by Tod land amidst the ranks of soldiers waiting to capture the pair, and their fleeing in terror, Reiji began to laugh out loud. That was a move that he’d have to remember for future use.
“You okay, Rage?” Tod asked over the communications link.
“Never better, kid.” Reiji responded. “And Tod,” he added. “Nice work.”
“I would fucking kill for a cigarette about now.” The words flowed cheerfully from Gavin’s lips, despite his grim expression. It had been a week or so since he’d run out. The craving only seemed to get worse by the day. The suit kept his hands from shakings while he wore it, but outside of it he was a twitchy mess. Many had told him in the past that his habit would kill him. Most of those people were long dead, and he was still alive. Showing exactly what they knew.
Fuck all.
“Somehow, I don’t think those fucking animals down there have any,” Gavin said as he looked sidelong at the two men with him. The only survivors of his crew assembled for this venture.
They were badly sunburned and filthy. Gavin found himself wondering how much longer he could stand the stink of them before he snappe
d. By his calculations, he’d need them for about five more days. Then they’d be at their destination, and their lives would become expendable. Until then, he guessed, they might come in handy.
He reached up, the right arm of his combat exoskeleton buzzing as he did so. It seemed to have been damaged in his last fight. Where the fuck had they gotten explosives? He still wondered about the answer.
Filthy fucking savages, he thought as the sound in his arm caught his attention. If they’d only listened to reason, and just given him whatever he wanted, they would still be alive.
He laughed out loud at that thought. Nah, he concluded. I’d have killed them all anyways.
Wandering trash. Stumbling about in the desert, until they found a spring. And then they pretended that they were so mighty and civilized. Scraping a meager existence from what crops they could grow and what they could steal from their counterparts. Just like the small village he was staring at, downslope from the huge truck he stood in. The twins in the cabin at the controls, and Gavin and his two trusty sidekicks, whatever the fuck their names are, he thought, standing in the back.
He pulled the faceplate of his helmet down and into place with a click and then a hiss as the exoskeleton’s climate control kicked in. At least that still worked, he nodded. After a second or two of darkness the combat exoskeleton began to interface with his new control system.
The place behind his left ear where he’d had the twins implant the device still hurt. But it was worth it. To be one of only a handful of men on the face of Lexington to have a functional neural interface implant? That was worth almost any price. Even the price of pain.
For his life, Gavin couldn’t figure out what the sheriff of that little shithole of a town had been doing with one. Most likely he had inherited the device. That was how most people got them. If he’d realized what it was before he killed the man, he might have asked him about it. But some things would just have to remain a mystery he guessed.
If the two men he’d brought with him, Ryan and Zhou, he remembered their names, had had any treachery in mind, he might very well be dead already. The one point in this entire expedition that he had been vulnerable. Under the knife they used to call it jokingly. A jab at the old days of tech when blades were still considered surgical instruments.
It wasn’t much of a joke now. With tech failing all across Lexington for what amounted to two centuries, blades were once again surgical high tech.
Gavin had allowed the twins to put him under and then perform the implantation surgery. He had utmost faith in them, miracles of tech that they were. They mapped out the precise location needed to implant the device and made the incision through muscle, bone, and gray matter with microscopic projected forcefields. Finding the exact spot it needed to be, they inserted the device and left it to go about its work.
The neural interface implant was a thing of wonder, in Gavin’s eyes. Tech so advanced that it bordered on magical. It sought out the precise neurons it needed to interface with and made the connections itself. It was probably a good thing that Gavin had still been sedated when it went about its wondrous work, as the process was known to cause extreme pain and ultra-realistic hallucinations.
During that time, before he awoke, if the other two had wanted him dead, well they stood a good chance of achieving their goal. But the deterrent of the twins appeared to have been enough. Or maybe the two men were actually loyal to him.
Gavin laughed out loud again at that thought. They had been bought, and proved desperate and greedy enough to be kept with the promise of more. That was where their loyalty lay. With the promised future treasures they thought he would shower them with.
Their souls for a few credits.
“Take us among them,” Gavin spoke out loud. He didn’t need to, as the neural interface implant allowed him full control of the combat exoskeleton. With a little tinkering, he’d found that he could communicate with the twins through the suit, just as he had with the data slate before. But found that he liked the sound of the suit’s voice.
Cold. Mechanical. Threatening.
The truck began to move, aimed towards the center of the small village. People milled about there, in late afternoon shadows cast by the huge rocks they sheltered under. A slash of green snaked off into the desert from the village, marking the path of the water flowing from the spring before it was sucked back into the dry earth.
A few people moved there, among the green things, staring uncertainly at this new visitor descending among them. The last place he had destroyed had reacted much the same way to the sight of him. Of course, they hadn’t had to die. They had simply chosen to die. Or had they chosen to be in his path when he felt like killing? Regardless of the cause, they fault had been entirely theirs.
All they had to do in order to keep living was give him a few of their women and children for his sport, and as much water as the tanks built into the truck could carry. They had refused his reasonable offer, and he had stalked among them, clad in invincible steel. Slaughtering them like an omnipotent child angry at the ants in his backyard.
There had almost been a happy ending for the savages clinging to existence there. They had initially agreed to give Gavin his pound of flesh. But when he had mentioned the water, they had refused. At least the man he bargained with had seemed to realize the value of things out here in the sun-addled asshole of the world.
But still they died. Even if they had agreed to everything, Gavin would have killed them anyway, he concluded again. It was his first opportunity to test out the neural interface implant and its control of the combat exoskeleton in an actual fight. Or least in what could very generously be called a fight and not just a one sided slaughter. Assault and murder.
It turned out that the desert dwellers, clad in their multitude of warpaint and their skin baked dark by the sun, had been right to defend their spring. The mechanical wellhead that had brought the water to the surface had run dry after only a few hundred liters.
No doubt it would replenish itself, but how long would that take? The fifty or so people living there would have died of thirst before the level returned. It was a no-win for them, and Gavin didn’t give a shit. He got more water than he knew what to do with. So much that he might drown Ryan or Zhou in the middle of the desert for the pure novelty of it.
And he’d gotten to test his upgraded combat capabilities in the suit. They did not disappoint.
In the past, when he’d slaughtered the sheriff’s posse, the suit had been sluggish. Slow to respond to his commands. Its one saving grace was that it made him nigh invincible. Nothing short of a blast from Overlord was going to harm him while he was within its confines.
Now, with the combat exoskeleton running through the neural interface, it was like a second layer of skin. Smooth, effortless motion flowed through the heavy alloy frame, and the world trembled around him. As was likely to happen again in the next few minutes.
The huge truck stopped at the edge of the village and Gavin leapt from the bed of the vehicle to the ground. This time his demands would be simple. Only the most pathetic wouldn’t be able to meet them.
The lush green grass beneath his feet felt like an alien sensation to him. After so long walking on rocks, sand, and dust, he’d almost forgotten what it was like. The village, like all in the wastes of the desert was centered on a spring. Water is life, as every man dwelling in such a place knew. Where there was water there were living things.
And here, there seemed to be many. Various types of wild plants and small patches of cultivated crops, irrigated with water from the spring. The small buildings were made of mud bricks, water and dirt being the only things in abundance here. Of course, abundance was a relative term.
Enough water to keep the people here alive, and keep growing things green. Not enough beyond that. Perhaps enough to attract predators as well, Gavin thought as his eyes fell upon the massive skull of a Goon.
Decorated with feathers and stained with what appeared to be blood, a tabl
e stood in the space of its mouth. A crude chair of mud bricks sat behind the table. It served as some type of throne for the chieftain or perhaps a sacrificial altar for a priest.
Had these desert apes managed to somehow kill a powerful predator like a Goon? It was unthinkable that even swarms of them armed with spears could take one down. Perhaps the enormous creature had come to the spring in search of water, only to find hunters in wait, some time before Overlord came to prominence.
Or maybe it had just died of old age and they’d found the remains out in the desert. Someone approached Gavin as he looked about the small village.
Bare-chested warriors came to meet him, carrying crude spears. Their eyes peeked out from behind a covering of paint across their angry faces. Blue, green, and brown splotches that Gavin couldn’t discern any purpose to. They showed no fear as they approached what appeared to be a man half again their height and made out of metal.
The combat exoskeleton fed data into Gavin’s mind, and he noticed what it had indicated. The dilation of their pupils and the glassy sheen of their eyes telling that they were under the effects of some type of drug. A short list of possibilities and their combat applications scrolled across his vision and a set of bushes near a babbling brook was highlighted as the likely source of the drug.
“I am here,” he began. Speaking with the suit’s mechanical voice. “To make a simple offer to you.” All eyes moved to him as he took one step towards the group of men. They raised their spears, but did not back away.
“You,” he spoke again after a suitably dramatic pause. “Will give me all of the tobacco you have in your little mud-hole, shit-stain of a village, and you will all get to go on living. However, if there is none,” he let the statement trail off and his hand moved slowly towards the grip of his blade. The executioner’s sword taken from the sheriff’s office. The weight of it would be like the fist of a god slamming into these filthy savages.
The Way of Death Page 30