by Drew Briney
“I need to verify this card’s value and transfer it to universal funds.”
“I see. Working under the table?” the banker asked, perhaps with disdain.
“Private loan repayment,” Vaya Sage countered, trying not to betray his annoyance. None of your freaking business, he silently added.
“Mmm.” The banker slid the card into a buzzing, gray box where it was greedily sucked in, scanned, and spit out the opposite side. The box beeped.
“It’s good,” the pudgy man announced as he moved it to another, darker unit that shot the card through a processing tube where it was noisily munched. Working his way through a myriad of prompts, the banker took his time before asking the inevitable question: “Would you like to open an account with us today? I recommend our platinum account for accounts this large. They’re guaranteed—”
“No, thank you,” Vaya Sage interjected, “I have an uber-mesh,” and unveiled a safety pouch from an inner breast pocket before adding, “I prefer portable funds.”
The pudgy banker peered over his glasses disapprovingly and nodded. “Of course. How many cards would you prefer?”
“One is fine.” Vaya Sage nearly chuckled to see the banker’s face scrunch in surprise but guarded a placid expression. He looked away casually and tried not to notice the banker eyeing his appearance while making a host of silent judgments, perhaps concluding the world based on the clothes on his back. He had bigger concerns. Discretely, Vaya Sage surveyed the area in search of any brewing trouble but didn’t find any. Neither did he expect any but habits were hard to break and in his line of work, every precaution was necessary.
Short, fat fingers passed a new card to Vaya Sage as the banker offered well-wishing about as warm as a naked mole rat in mid-winter. When Vaya Sage attempted to meet the man’s gaze to return the courtesy, he cut himself short, doubting the pudgy man would even register his words. Already, his mind appeared to be somewhere else, somewhere dark and lonely, Vaya Sage estimated. He knew that feeling all too well and suddenly wished he was in a different city, sipping an exotic cocktail and trying to forget the world. He curtly nodded at the banker who wasn’t paying attention and found the nearest exit.
Pressing down the commercial corridor, Vaya Sage vigilantly kept his head low, hidden beneath his now hooded head, and his eyes high, surveying the area for anything amiss. As he rounded the final corner, searching for the clinic sign, he spotted a disturbingly familiar face. Failing to respond inconspicuously, he stared hard at the man entering the same clinic he was headed toward. He grimaced, increased his pace, and took a deep breath. It couldn’t be. He’d verified both hits the night before. There was no way either was alive and if by miracle one had survived, he certainly wouldn’t be wandering around town this soon.
Before Vaya Sage opened the glass clinic door, he scolded himself, considered that however uncanny the resemblance, the man who’d entered the clinic ahead of him resembled the prosthetic of the brother he’d taken down, not the actual assassin himself. Disappointingly, the man was already heading into an office and disappearing behind a closed door so Vaya Sage couldn’t confirm anything. Observing the man more closely wouldn’t have really helped much, he knew, but something about the coincidence disturbed him and it seemed a second glance would have been comforting. He continued walking toward the main desk as if nothing happened.
“Would you like to set an appointment?” The cutest button of a ginger greeted the seasoned assassin with an expression that hinted at the combined naiveté of two-score lambs. From her bubbly smile and youthful appearance, Vaya Sage musingly guessed she’d probably needed parental permission to land a job at a place like this. He forced a smile. It wasn’t too hard. She was quite attractive.
“Actually, I’m only here for your complimentary service,” he began.
“Aha!” the ginger receptionist gloated, “I spotted you as a hardcore gamer the moment I laid eyes on you. Love the hood.” She winked. “What’s your name?” Her charismatic smile and contagious energy stopped Vaya Sage from bothering to correct her faulty observation.
“Vaya Enta Sage.” He spoke each name emphatically with a pause in between.
“Spelling?”
Perfunctorily, he offered each letter distinctly as he eyed the office, noting a strip of heavily worn carpet that undoubtedly marked the path to back offices and brain scanners. Building codes would require a conspicuous emergency exit and signage. The opposing hallway carpet was less worn and sported slightly brighter hues.
The receptionist swathed through a few prompts before announcing, “there’s nothing here,” with a look of dismay. “Did I get the spelling right?” She rotated the holo-screen for Vaya Sage’s verification.
It checked out fine.
“Yes,” he said.
“Uhhh. If you’re thinking you’ve had a memory implant, it must be untagged,” she began, “unless … is it from earlier this morning?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Sometimes the national database takes an hour to update on our system. It can be unbearably slow, you know?”
Vaya Sage tried to manage a supporting smile but his expression must have given him away.
“Wow.” Her bubbly countenance morphed into worry. “We always recommend you report any untagged memories to the police right away. If you’d like to fill out our form, we can see if you qualify for a free agency scanning to report illegal activity and for treatment if they find anything. I’m so sorry. Here—”
“There it is,” Vaya Sage announced, faking recognition of the telltale tag that would appear at the end of any implanted memory regardless of its original source. Gaming institutions, adult entertainment, and various drug imitating services all used the same personalized tag. Occasional illegal services even used tags to stake their claim that they hadn’t transcended memory implant laws. Vaya Sage’s tag was a white rhino with a bloody horn. He hadn’t changed it since childhood. The tag appeared differently with each vendor but it was always recognizable as a memory tag. He wished he’d really seen it. Even a gory, horror inducing version would have been welcome. Despite grave disappointment, he ventured a relieved smile, hoped it was passingly convincing.
“Whew,” the receptionist said with a charismatic grin. “You had me worried. I’m sooo glad it popped up. Sometimes they get buggy, you know? showing up later than expected.” She was energetically gesticulating with her arms and upper body now. “I hate it when that happens.” She squinted her eyes and nose for emphasis and then offered the most contagious smile he’d ever seen.
Involuntarily, he released a genuine smile in return.
“Yeah, no kidding,” he answered, shaking his head and trying to appear completely reassured. As his mind raced, he looked deeply into the ginger’s eyes and held out his hand.
Visibly surprised, she accepted his brief handshake.
“It was a pleasure meeting you and a joy to witness your charming smile,” he offered, using a line he hadn’t visited for years. It felt canned but in these situations, almost nothing he said felt honest, even when he was being completely authentic. Hiding in the shadows for a living does that to a man. He winked for good measure and turned away slowly enough to see that she continued to smile energetically.
Inwardly, Vaya Sage swore, cursed whatever fortune had generated this bad luck. He was all but certain he’d suffered a memory implant and maybe even partial memory erasures. Bare feet on pine needles, no sheath for a young teen’s blade, a psionic blast, and an otherworldly voice that was probably nothing more than a high tech parlor trick. Sure, it would be illegal but what was that to an organization of assassins? Add those details to a real life ZN5 unit and the oddly familiar face of the man at the licensed memory physician clinic and there was little doubt he’d been whitewashed with false memories.
But he couldn’t risk a free police scan.
The money checked out. He hadn’t felt any deep remorse or unusual feeling after having killed his two brothers. Intuitively, Vaya Sage knew t
hat wasn’t a normal layman reaction and as an assassin, he didn’t dare expose his memories to disapproving government eyes. On the flip side, comprehensive, illegal scans were exorbitantly expensive. He’d need to pop off another few hits to afford one.
Inside his pocket, his holo-comm buzzed. He pulled it out as he re-donned his hood and hit the sidewalk with a rapid-fire pace. But it was only a calendar alert. He returned the holo-comm to his pocket and continued his route back to the hovercraft.
The conference where most members of the brotherhood would be gathering started in the late afternoon. Vaya Sage began turning over each segment of his plans in his head, noting which weapons he’d stashed where and which backup plans would work best under various circumstances. Rarely were hits this complicated but this one could be extremely profitable so he couldn’t allow any room for error. Besides, if he waxed careless in the slightest, the brotherhood would be on high alert and that would all but guarantee he’d miss his five week deadline. As things were, he’d be lucky to beat it anyway.
BROKEN CODE
“VAYGE?” THE SMOOTH ALTO VOICE SOUNDED FROM BEHIND. Only one person ever called him that and she was part of the brotherhood.
Apprehensive that he’d turn around to find a gun trained on him, Vaya Sage slowly turned to avoid appearing threatening, carefully placing his right hand in his front jacket pocket where he slowly, methodically unsheathed a blade, feigned a smile. He couldn’t have been more surprised to find Midi Ella dressed to the nines more than two blocks away from the conference center.
Typically, Vaya Sage held a deep preference for blonds but Midi Ella was an undeniable exception. She had huge brown eyes outlined by luscious eyelashes and a soft visage surrounded by hair that had landed her professional modeling gigs before she’d joined the brotherhood. And she boasted a figure as enticing as any man could reasonably aspire to imagine. Today, it was on showcase, wrapped in a rich blue, form-fitting, sleeveless dress with myriads of tantalizing cutouts. The all but missing lower portion of her skirt left Vaya Sage feeling grateful for his eyes.
“Wow,” he growled, “you look fabulous.” His gaze wandered to her purse before taking another tour of her figure. He spotted no weapons and her purse was zipped shut, preventing easy access. She was wearing see-through, lacy gloves that didn’t show any signs of hiding a tasing patch. Neither would she be able to lace gloves like that with tainted chemicals.
Sloppy.
Midi Ella appreciatively smiled as she glanced sideways and began walking toward Vaya Sage with such casualness, he felt unnerved, borderline confused.
Glock strapped to her back.
That was the only possibility. True, a long distance rifle could be trained on him but it seemed unlikely. No one expected his presence and he’d barely exited his hovercraft, which he’d disguised with a temporary paint wrap and parked next to another Zent hovercraft of a similar blue hue. Midi Ella was too far from the conference to have been sent as a diversion so he estimated the chances of her being unarmed were slim to none.
It had to be a chance encounter … unless she’d spotted him the night before when he’d inconspicuously planted backup weapons. In that case …
Possibilities were becoming messy.
Until now, things had been going well. The area was mostly void of activity. Vaya Sage didn’t want to attract attention by carrying off a close-up, bloody hit before the conference but if he let her go, she’d alert the others to his presence.
And she was closing the distance.
He held back expressions of mounting frustration, maintained a pleasant smile.
“I almost didn’t recognize you. You dyed your hair.” Midi Ella grinned but it may have been forced. “I like it.” She slipped off her right glove, reached up to inspect his newly black locks, twirled them in her fingers, and sported a new smile that looked more genuine. Suddenly, her demeanor changed as she backed up slightly to look him in the eyes. She seemed genuinely concerned. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried.”
Apprehensive, Vaya Sage monitored her hands as she tenderly wrapped them around his back to embrace him as she commonly did when greeting other members of the brotherhood. She was quirky like that but then, she used her femininity to assist her hits so it suited her well. Just before her chest reached his own, he finished unsheathing his blade and prepared to slip it between her ribs and into her lungs to stifle any call for help. He’d slice it sideways to ensure the puncture was thorough enough to allow as speedy and speechless death as possible.
Momentarily, he allowed self indulgence to override caution, received her comforting energies as they embraced. He wasn’t prone to taking unnecessary risks but something deep within his soul demanded to be heard, demanded that he relish the moment. He savored the smell of her hair and luxuriated in her tantalizing flesh as he deeply plunged his blade into her back and sliced it sideways while turning his own body so Midi Ella’s blood would flow onto the garden soil adjoining the walkway where they stood. He anticipated that predictable, overwhelming rush that came with intimate hits but it didn’t come.
“Vayge,” she gasped, her voice reduced to a barely audible whisper.
He pushed her body away from his own to look into those seductive eyes that had lured others to their doom. He wanted to see her expression as she came to the realization that she hadn’t fooled him. He’d beaten her at her own game.
Instead, her eyes exploded with confusion as they searched his hardened gaze. He saw, more than he heard, her last whispered plea, “help.” Her tight grasp on his clothing slowly loosened as she lost consciousness.
Vaya Sage grabbed her purse to press against her wound, slow the blood flow as he carried her back to his hovercraft so there would be less mess to clean off of the walkway but even as he did, his gut wrenched. Something felt terribly wrong. An image flashed in his mind, Midi Ella pulling Vaya Sage close to kiss him passionately. He could nearly feel her hand cupped around his neck, pulling him closer. He clenched his jaw, scowled as his emotions tangled into a discordant mess. What was this?
Carrying a near lifeless corpse, he contemplated Midi Ella’s gentle face, still somewhat contorted with confusion and winced as another scene flashed through his mind. A noticeably younger Midi Ella charismatically beamed with a toothy smile while dancing, one arm outstretched away from him, the other tightly clinging to his own as she beautifully unwound from his embrace. Her neck and chest faintly glistened from dancing on a hot summer’s evening. He suppressed a grieving reflex, a soulful cringe of deep regret, an out-of-place-random desire to kiss her neck, taste her skin on his lips before laying her to rest. Vaya Sage scowled, clenched his jaw, shook his head as he glanced over his shoulder to verify no one was around to see him disposing of her body.
Even if intravenously frozen while awaiting treatment, Midi Ella’s chances of survival were infinitesimally small. But he didn’t fail to notice an ever-growing urge to rush her to a hospital as his soul primevally protested her death. He groaned as he brushed two brown bottles of waste disposal spray out of the way with his elbow while laying her body onto the cockpit floor. Blood now flowed freely as her body lay oddly twisted, free of the pressure he’d been applying to the wound. He gruffly shoved her body into a more discrete position that he hoped would slow her bleeding to facilitate clean up later.
Vaya Sage huffed, silently castigated himself for pondering medical help, even momentarily. He’d just taken out an unscrupulous assassin. There was no room for regret. She was part of a brotherhood of child killers, a den of amoral vagabonds who’d once united under a more noble cause.
Vaya Sage couldn’t countenance killing innocents. He’d never taken a job that required the killing of someone for the sake of revenge. There needed to be a legitimate reason behind his hits. Justice. Betterment of society. Prevention of wrongdoing. Protection of country.
But as he took his last look at Midi Ella’s pristine face, he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, this kill had be
en none of those things. Somehow, he’d broken his code. On top of that, he felt like he’d just lost a loved one. But that too was impossible, ridiculous. There was no love among assassins - only a bond of brotherhood united under a common banner - and Vaya Sage was no longer aligned with their corrupted ideals.
He spat as he shut the cockpit door and began spraying the ground with a milky brown substance that quickly bubbled as it made contact with the blood. He didn’t look back as he moved along. He was behind schedule now. And he knew how effective the bacteria in the milky brown sludge was. Within seconds, it would eat up every discernible trace of blood and then it would appear to be nothing more than a feint vestige of someone’s coffee spill. Usually, that too, appeared days old if it was noticeable at all.
Less than a minute later, Vaya Sage tossed the brown spray bottle into a dumpster. Set to gently self destruct, the bottle would release plastic eating bacteria that would destroy the bottle and allow the brown sludge to fend for itself at the bottom of the dumpster. Then, he all but sprinted to the back door of the hotel on the opposite side of the street as the conference. Sensing the keycard in his pocket, the door opened automatically. Impatient, Vaya Sage pulled the door open faster and ran to the stairwell where he began leaping stairs two at a time until he reached the twelfth floor.
Soon, he was laying across two chairs, breathing heavily and focusing the scope to his magma rifle through a cracked window and adjusting its heat vision to accommodate current levels of fading daylight. He set the heat vision to overlay normal vision to enhance his window shots while allowing him to trace hits that disappeared behind walls as well. Only two figures graced the conference room. They too were behind schedule. He had time to spare.
Still struggling to rein in his emotions, Vaya Sage pounded his fist against his heart and quietly released a grunt of frustration. A half-score chest poundings later, he slid into one of the chairs and flopped his head against its back, exhaled loudly. What was happening? He didn’t have time to deal with emotions. There was no room for grieving or frustration, no room for mistakes. He had to run through nine hits today in short order. If he was lucky, they’d all be in the conference room. If not, three would be in the room next to the conference room. Worst case scenario, someone would be running from one room to the other to alert living brothers that they were under attack. That meant he had to be meticulous, fast, and proficient. This was a tight operation, not time for a mini-meltdown.