MAELSTROM

Chapter 1:

A Drop in the Storm

Looking through the glass of the express elevator of Residential Supertower R-832, I could see only the expanse of towers nearly identical to this one. A sprawling sea of neon spires shining out in the endless darkness of Metropolis One. The rain pelted the reinforced glass in front of me, a blur of grey droplets less impacting the glass than being decimated by the speed of the lift as it sliced through the air. Traveling from the lobby to the top floor, some five hundred floors up, the elevator reached a peak speed comparable to that of the bullet train that circled the outskirts of the city.

            This was just another day. Destined to blur into all the others that came before it. Not unlike the mess of raindrops on the glass in front of me. Each ran one into the next until it was simply one amorphous mess. There it was, the perfect summation of my life thus far. Today, tomorrow, every day, just another drop in the storm. Or some pretentious shit to that effect. I never was one for poetry, I suppose that explains the rifle concealed in my briefcase. When all your dreams die, there’s always the option to ruin them for everyone else. Of course, maybe that’s just my chronic pessimism talking. My therapist tells me I need to do something about that. She claims that kind of thinking can ruin your life if you’re not careful but I’m not sure how much is left to ruin. Besides, I’m in the business of taking lives, only seems fair that I should pay for it all in some way, even if it’s just a self-inflicted existential crisis.

I tried to explain to her that the monotony was growing thick and the apathy heavy. But she wouldn’t hear it. She went on and on about finding a change of scenery. Even now I almost laugh at the thought.

A change of scenery? The sun has been blacked out for decades. No matter where you go, you only find more of the same. Darkness, violence, poverty. If you leave Metropolis One, you only trade it out for Metropolis Two, Three, or any of the others. The homogeneous, slate-gray skies swelling overhead only followed you from one Mega City to the next. Sunlight was just a fond memory from my childhood, one of the few, and even those had begun to fade.

The lift came to a gentle stop and the double doors opened with the sound of decompressing air. An elderly man in a satin bathrobe stood on the other side, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. I must have been quite the sight. The bandana tied tight around my mouth, the black tar smeared around my eyes, and the hoodie with a spattering of military tech strapped to my forearms, chest, back and boots. Just simple armor for protection from small arms fire.

I shook my head deliberately and he scurried back into his room.

The upper floors, full of people like him. High above it all, it was rare that the real world reached these people, but here it was, stepping out soaked with rain from the express elevator. One look at it and they all go running. Can’t say I blame them. Living up in the clouds must be nice. By tomorrow I’ll be nothing more than a ghost story that he’ll share with all his wealthy friends. Not in person obviously, just on screens and in virtual chatrooms reserved for those who could afford a life of augmented reality.

The ultimate retirement plan. Not just retiring from your work but from reality itself. Sitting back and letting your fantasies become reality. Of course, there are restrictions. Government mandates that prevent, exclude or limit certain types of fantasies. In fact, it’s that tricky little bit of legislation that got me to the top floor of Supertower R-832.

I arrived outside the door of room 5564. Before entering the code supplied to me by my benefactor, I made sure to wipe my soaked boots along the carpeted floors of the hallway. Call it petty, but there was something satisfying about mucking up the pristine tapestry that these wealthy pricks seldom ever stepped out of their rooms to acknowledge.

Code: 4-4-4-4.

A similar sound of decompression preceded the door coming slightly ajar.

Jesus, these fuckers really do live on a different planet…

I stepped through the door and made my way into the room. It was dimly lit, and sparsely furnished. Just a couch, a bed, a dining table, and a wall of windows with a great view of the city. I surveyed the room. Empty, save for its owner. Seated in a chair in the corner was the resident of this unit. Barely clothed, just a pair of silk boxers and socks, he sat reclined in the chair with an IV strapped to his left arm monitoring his vitals. Checking the numbers on the screen, a quick glance at his heart rate and blood work told me what my eyes could already see, he was little more than a skeleton.

This was often the fate of those who became addicted to the Cloud Conscience. Their bodies slowly deteriorated unbeknownst to them, then their minds followed shortly after, before finally passing on into whatever bliss or boundless nothing followed this mess we called life. His eyes glowed a ghostly blue as a result of the lenses one wears to access the Cloud. Like a teenager swept up in a wet dream, he gesticulated slightly and released a single lustful moan. Seemed my benefactor had supplied the promised fantasies.

I stepped over to the windows which were so crystalline it gave the surreal feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff. Looking down into the storm, there was nothing to be seen. Only a mess of swirling black clouds, crackling lightning, and the neon glow of street signs down below. For most that would be it, just a fugue of polychromatic whisps, but not me. I had a gift. Or so my benefactor loved to tell me. I could see farther, deeper, and with more clarity.

I unlocked the briefcase and assembled my rifle. With this old girl, I could see clear across the city.

Once assembled I used the biometrics supplied to me on my wristlet and downloaded them into my rifle. This way, when I get a read on the target’s thermal signature, I’ll know it’s him without facial recognition. Between the AI feeding me information through a neural implant, the rifle’s auto-fire option, and the thorough prep from Victor to get me into this position, it felt less like a job than a paint by numbers session.

I felt coddled, dull, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take some of the fun out of it.

I looked down the scope of my rifle, watching the grey clouds melt away into a medley of bright blues and reds. Zooming in, the small red dots slowly became the scarlet silhouettes of thousands of passersby. I scanned the streets nearly a mile below me until the AI dictated to me the club on the corner of 8th Avenue.

Mick and Rory’s

That was the place. The target was somewhere inside. I glanced at the time permanently augmented into the corner of my left eye.

11:47 PM.

I was early. He wouldn’t walk out until about Midnight. I had time to kill.

I ran my finger along the touch screen on my wristlet, setting the AI system to conversational.

“Okay, Miki, talk to me.”

“Well, well.” The AI said condescendingly. “I thought after our little spat last time, you were going to keep me muted forever. But part of me knew you’d miss me too much.”

“Careful, Miki, or I’m setting you to text mode again. Just one button and you’re back to being a glorified typewriter.”

“Pfff!” The AI scoffed. “And you being a glorified janitor, cleaning up the shit of local slumlords, I guess it’s fitting that I’d be your only friend in the world.”

“You’re not my only friend, I have my therapist. She’s actually very nice.”

The AI paused briefly, “You do know how sad that sounds, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” I said. “You’re just upset that soon you’ll be obsolete.”

“Me?! Obsolete? Need I remind you that you’re the one turning thirty in exactly ten minutes, Caela. All I need is a software update and a new operator, when you age out its curtains, I’m afraid.”

I felt my chest tighten and my blood run a little cold. It was as if the entire room had dropped ten degrees. I would be thirty-nine in ten minutes, and I’d be celebrating yet another birthday the same way I had for the last twenty years. Taking lives to fund the continuation of my own. The same bad joke played on loop until it was little more than white noise droning in the background.

Miki must have read the change in my vitals. He did his usual long pause as he processed the feedback.

“I’m sorry, Caela. I didn’t realize this topic was so troubling for you. If it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t want another operator.”

“It’s alright Miki. You couldn’t know.”

“May I ask what’s bothering you? With your metabolic rate and consistent vitals, I’d say, barring a workplace accident, you’ve still got more of your life ahead of you than behind you.”

I kept my eyes fixed on the scarlet phantoms moving around inside the club some couple thousand meters below. While an integrated AI wasn’t what she had in mind, my therapist did tell me I needed to open up more.

“Not exactly Miki. My best years are behind me, or about to be. Eventually, I’ll be old. Barely fit to move or form a sentence.” I adjusted the scope slightly. “And this is how I spent them, repaying a debt to a despicable old man. A debt paid in blood. And what’s worse is that this job, which has taken everything from me, is the only damn thing I take pride in. What the fuck does that say about me?”

Miki waited a moment to process.

“If I may, Caela, I think it says nothing more than you’ve come to appreciate your craft. I find this to be common in humans. You enjoy what you’re good at and, at the risk of inflating your already engorged ego, you’re a master of your craft.”

“Maybe, but the craft only lasts until my body breaks down. After that I’ll be left with all the shit I never did, all the memories I never made, the whole life I missed out on.”

I looked at the emaciated man sitting in the recliner, his eyes glowing blue. His body squirmed pleasurably; it made my skin crawl.

“Or I resign myself to a life of fake experiences. Once my body breaks down it won’t matter.”

Miki paused.

“Perhaps I’m biased, but I think humans overrate physical anatomy to an alarming degree. Personally…”

My entire scope was enveloped in a flash of deep reds and pinks. Then, a slight delay before the explosion could be heard through the radio.

“Shit!” I cursed into the dimly lit room.

The club was under attack, a series of heat blasts could be seen cracking out into the street below. At almost exactly midnight, another scarlet phantom came rushing out of the doors which were now catching fire. A series of stray shots narrowly missed him. The thermal signature marked him immediately, Philip Duegen, the mark. My blood was pumping, heart racing, as if I was down in the wreckage with them. My finger caressed the trigger as my sight held firm on the target. I switched off the auto-fire. Some of us still took pride in our work. And, sure, maybe I did miss out on a lot of things, maybe even my entire life. But here, in my element, I never miss.

The target rushed to his car outside, I looped my finger around the trigger.

I never miss…

I exhaled and squeezed.

2

Philip Duegen didn’t hear the first shot. A mile down, the blasts would be inaudible. The concentrated energy burst from a pulse rifle is significantly quieter than the shot of a more traditional firearm. Besides, in the chaos, it was unlikely Philip Deugen heard anything but his own heart beating against his chest as he raced toward his car. His pursuers and the hail of gunfire from their many handguns would drown out his other senses. Based on his vitals his adrenaline was skyrocketing. His perception was locked in that surreal state of being as narrow as a keyhole yet effortless. All the expected signs of a traditional fight or flight scenario appeared on the optics augmented in my left eye. All except one. His thermal signature was well above normal in fact, it was inhuman.

I made a mental note of the reading before continuing with my work.

Duegen turned just in time to see a particularly eager gunman sprinting up behind him with his high-caliber handgun already drawn. There was no chance that Philip’s gun would clear his hip before the man emptied his magazine into his chest. But just as this realization dawned on Philip, he saw a streak of purple light flash down from the grey storm clouds above impacting the gunmen like divine lightning. On impact, the pursuer’s midsection erupted into a mass of golden sparks and black liquified flesh. It was now that Duegen stood stunned to find that any of the pursuers who had managed to make it out of the club were laying dead in the parking lot. Their bodies were sliced into multiple pieces from the pulse rifle. Two more purple streaks pierced the sky and atomized the midsection of two other gunmen who stood in shock at the sight of the previous shot. In a daze, Philip looked up at the sky and I looked down at him through the thermal scope. He couldn’t see me obviously. All he could see was the swirling grey clouds and the heavy rain pelting him in the face.

But I was there, watching.

“Get in the fucking car.” I muttered. “What are you waiting for?”

The orange specter looked up at me unmoving. Based on my readings he might have slipped into shock. Another shooter came screaming out of the club, his body partly burned from the explosion. Before I could react, he fired a shot at Philip. The shot, fired in anger, pinged off the hood of the car. There was no second shot, almost independent of any thought my scope twitched into place and I fired another pulse. The shot landed flush into the man’s skull, erupting his cranium and leaving his headless corpse standing seemingly unconvinced of its own demise for a fraction of a second before tumbling to the ground. The seared insides of the man leaked out onto the street in an oily black mess. If Philip wasn’t in shock before, he damn well was now.

In frustration I aimed my scope at the compact car in behind him. In an instant, the scope was uploading feed into my Hub about the make, model, and interface of the vehicle. All of them, even the cheapest models these days, operated on some form of primitive AI.

“Goddamnit! Miki do you mind? This guy is gonna get us killed.”

“I’m on it.” The AI replied.

The Hud’s read on the car’s interface changed immediately. And I could hear Miki’s voice, with a slight static muffle, as he spoke to the man outside the car.

“Excuse me sir,” The car door opened, bumping Philip Duegen forward a step and turning him round. He peered confusedly through the rain at the car which had started on its own and whose radio was now addressing him. “if it’s not too much trouble Mister Duegen, would you mind terribly getting in the car? Our mutual friend is on a bit of a tight schedule.”

He placed his hand on the hood of the car and peered inside of the empty vehicle. Like a stray cat behind coaxed into a crate, the apprehension permeated Philp Duegen’s every move.

“W-Who are you? Why are you helping me?”

I went to speak but Miki wisely took the lead before I lost my temper.

“Wonderful questions Mister Duegen, but perhaps best left for when you can live long enough to benefit from the answers.”

Philip Duegen leaned further into the car, then stopped.

“I don’t know.” He said, almost whimpering. “I don’t know what’s happening! I don’t know what to do!”

Burning frustration built up inside of me, not just that the man was clearly little more than a civilian and hopelessly out of his depth, but because I was about to run out of time. No doubt authorities were already pinpointing my location, the moment they had it, things would get hairy fast, and I would need to get moving.

“Mister Duegen, if you’ll please just…”

            “Get in the fucking car!”

My voice burst through the car speakers causing the frightened man to fall clean out of the car and splash ass-first into a puddle on the side of the road ruining his cheap suit.

“Philip Duegen!” I said accusingly. “Your car is leaving! Either get in or get fucked!”

As if on cue, sirens could be heard in the distance and the large tyrannical screens plastered on the side of every commercial and residential building in the city began to glow a deep red simultaneously. The usual blues and purples of the cities lighting shifted to the same red.

Alert! Alert! Immediate Lockdown of Sector A4 in effect. Repeat, all citizens of Sector A4, immediate lockdown in effect!

At the closing of the emergency signal, the lights inside the apartment switched on. I turned round to find the entire room dressed in an aching florescent light. The semi-spherical security camera in the corner of the room, standard with every residential unit, switched on and aimed itself at me. For a moment we just stared at each other. In my attire, and with my augmentations, I was safe from any facial recognition software or bio-identification. However, that didn’t make me anything less than an unauthorized guest with a highly illegal pulse-rifle.

“Fuck it.” I said, pulling my handgun and blasting the camera with a single shot.

The florescent lighting changed to a blood red as the alarm system of Supertower R-832 began blaring with a similar message for all the residents within the tower to remain locked inside their rooms for their own safety.  

Time’s up.    

“Caela, I think it’s time to…”

“I know, Mikki, I know! Just get him out of here. I’ll handle my part.”

“Say no more.”

Miki pulled up the feed from the car’s security camera as I disassembled my rifle in a hurry and packed it into the suitcase. Philip Duegen stood from the puddle, the rain still falling violently down on him. He looked up at the screens flashing red and barely heard the alarm system emphatically restating the same warning over and over on the city-wide loud speakers.

“Mister Duegen.” Miki began. “As indelicately as our mutual friend put it, I’m afraid this is your last chance. Get in or… well, you heard the woman. The choice is yours.”

His lip quivered and then he nodded sheepishly and ducked his head into the car.

“But what if…?”

Before he could finish the inane question, Mikki dropped the passenger seat and closed the door behind him, shoving him violently, face-first, into the seat. The car’s engine hummed loudly and peeled out into the street. The road acting as a runway, as the car gained speed and eventually hovered higher and higher off the ground until it was splitting the air between the buildings.

Meanwhile, I had just packed my rifle and approached the apartment door when my Hud picked up the unique signals, or non-signals, of elite law enforcement. Their vitals were cloaked beneath thick government-issued armor thus disguising their bio-metrics, but revealing their location on the HUD. Like any physical camouflage, digital camouflage became apparent when in motion if one knew what to look for. Systems engaging, and doors and lifts being operated but no one appearing on screen to operate them. Phantoms sifting through the security measures, only very real and heavily armed. The Threat Pacification Unit was their official department, but to anyone growing up in the shadow of Metropolis One they would always be known by their unofficial moniker, Specters. Fitting both for their cloak-and-dagger methods as well as the origin. Originally commissioned on behalf of the infamous Inspector Elias King, as an elite crime fighting unit during the post-war turmoil. Thus, as minions of the famed Inspector, they became known as Specters themselves.

And now, as I stood about to exit the apartment, I was aware that there was a squad of heavily armed Specters waiting for me in the hallway. The lift came to a stop and opened, on the HUB nothing exited the doors, but I knew that the three or four nothings that exited were quietly making their way through the hall.

I backed away from the door and weighed my options. In a moment of disturbing inspiration, I tracked back through the room- which was nothing but a shadowy fog of darkness and thin, blood-red light -until my eyes fell upon my gracious host and his ghostly blue eyes.

Miki’s voice came concernedly into my ear.

“Caela, the cloaking is working. I’ll have Mister Duegen clear in the next minute. Please tell me you’re not where I think you are.”

“You know that I am, Miki. But no worries, I have a plan. But when he’s clear, would you mind giving me a lift?”

“Sure, I think I can fit that into my schedule.”

“Thanks, see you soon.”

Using my wristlet, I muted Miki on my end and moved toward the blue-eyed skeleton laying in the corner of the room. For a moment, I took in the sight of the man. His sunken cheeks, almost hollow ribcage, and his vacant eyes staring up at the ceiling. Based on his heartbeat, he was either was in the midst of a terrifying nightmare or one hell of a dream. A smile twitched onto his face, and he groaned before slipping back into a blank stare. That answered that.

Well, people do always say they want to die peacefully in their sleep. I reasoned.

I spoke dispassionately at the man, “Sorry, friend. I’m gonna need to borrow your body. Lord knows you aren’t using it.”

 I unhooked the IV, the EKG began beeping incessantly as the vitals flatlined before picking up his heartbeat on the mobile receiver and stabilizing. By the time the beeping ceased I rolled the bed in front of the apartment door. When the EKG machine quieted, the entire apartment fell into a heavy silence. Glancing at my HUD, there was no sign of anything. Just an empty stretch of hallway. But I could feel it, they were here. Guns at the ready, already aiming at the door.

Pistol still in my hand, I stood behind the rolling bed and exhaled.

“Well,” I began. “Showtime.”

3

Despite the brutality of a life-or-death exchange, it was little more than chess. A series of moves and counter moves, actions and reactions. It wasn’t about thinking of your next move, it was about determining your opponent’s next move and already having the counter sheathed and  ready. In other words, before the first shot is even fired, a good combatant already sees their path to victory. I knew their protocols, knew their habits, and knew how to exploit them. That’s why, when the door decompressed and came ajar, I had already unhitched the grenade from my belt and at the first sign of movement I tossed it through the door.

A small silver sphere bounced and rolled into the hall, I heard their boots shift and scurry out of the anticipated range of the explosive. However, it didn’t explode. Instead, a series of small metal cylinders erected from its surface like the quills of a sea urchin. Whichever specter first realized it yelled out to the others.

“Smoke, smoke, smoke!”

            “Going thermal.”

“Watch the door!”

And just like that the game was set. They went thermal to see passed the smoke, but my thermal signature was already cloaked. Now, in one play, I had turned the tables. I was the ghost and they were they were the ones at a disadvantage.

I looked down at my unconscious host.

Okay, friend. Time to be useful for the first time in your miserable life.

Leading with the bed I burst through the door and into the smoke-filled hallway. It was nothing but a sifting gray cloud, but I could hear the orders being barked the moment the door crashed open.

“Open fire! Put ‘em down! Put ‘em down!”

They opened fire; the hallway was quickly consumed by the splitting drum of automatic weapons. I fell flat onto the ground pressing my hand against my bandana to keep the smoke from seeping through. Nothing but opaque clouds and the thunder of assault rifles remained. Blind and deaf, it was time to take advantage. Lest my accommodating host’s sacrifice be in vain. As, by now, I was sure that his frail body was likely riddled to a bloody mess. Listening intently, I tried to pinpoint the number of shooters and their location relative to me. By the sound of it, there were four of them. Two to my left and two to my right. All of their rifles were blazing and nearing empty. The two to my left were slightly closer. I’d take them first.

I stood up and broke into a sprint. After a few long strides, the shooting stopped, they were dry. All that was left was the sound of magazines hitting the floor and the drone of the EKG machine from the apartment, announcing the long-awaited demise of my gracious host.

Seemingly manifesting from the smoke, an anthropomorphic creature in sleek all-black armor appeared feet in front of me. With its all-black armor and lack of distinguishing features, it was only its voice that distinguished it as human and not machine.

Although I couldn’t see it, I could imagine the look of surprise on his face when he turned and saw me break through the cloud of smoke in front of him.

“She’s right…”

Before he could finish the sentence or pull his side arm, I whipped the titanium briefcase across his helmet as hard as I could. The briefcase dented, his helmet cracked but didn’t fully break, and he fell backward to the wonderfully designed carpet below. His AR slid across the floor away from us. I raised the briefcase above my head and turned it end-over-end, before bringing it down hard on the already cracked portion of his helmet.

“On top of me! She’s…”

The briefcase shattered the helmet, and the human skull under it didn’t have the luxury of metallic reinforcement. His arms went limp, and I pulled the briefcase back up, the far end dripping with the contents of the man’s skull. The din of the EKG cut through the lingering silence, as if announcing that my late host just got company. Then I heard it, the unmistakable sound of a fully loaded AR being cocked and primed behind me. I dropped back to the floor just as the shots rang out again. The Specter closest to me didn’t see me, but he heard me. Stepping through the fog, he found me lying on the ground beside his critically wounded comrade. He pulled the trigger, I raised the briefcase in time for it to absorb the burst of bullets and charged forward case-first. The bullets bounced against the case as I cleared the three or four feet between us. I swung it hard against the barrel of his gun, sending his rifle flipping out of his hands and into the smoke. With a firm shove, I pinned his back to the wall. Reflexively, he swung with his left hand and reached for his sidearm with his right. I ducked under the punch and clasped my left hand on his right, pinning his gun in its holster.

His body language told me that he didn’t expect me to be strong enough to hold his hand in place effortlessly. Swinging wildly with his left, I blocked the punch and balled my hand into a fist. As I did, my wristlet dropped a thin sheet of titanium that looped over my knuckles. I reared back and punched knuckles first into the man’s armored neck. The punch indented the armor, causing the Specter to reach desperately for his crushed windpipe. He slid down the wall groping at his neck.

Two down, two to go.

I heard them shuffling their feet on the other end of the hallway. They didn’t fire blindly into the smoke. They had learned their lesson; they weren’t against the average gangbanger or Primitive. They needed to conserve their ammo and wait for me to make a mistake.

I stood, carefully plotting the path I would take to cover the distance without eating high-caliber bullets when the ventilation system kicked on.

Shit. I thought. Alright, Caela, move or die.

The smoke was clearing rapidly, the vents overhead consumed it with each passing second. I would need to be fast. In fact, I would need to be faster than fast. I had only one play, and I knew it. I pulled a cylindrical shot from the pouch on my waist and, with a brief exhale to ready myself for the pain.

“Hey Miki. How are we looking?”

“We’re clear, I have Mister Duegen parked in the Dead Zone.”

“That’s good, just wanted to give you a heads up.”

He read the hesitation in my voice.

“I know what you’re about to do, Caela. Please don’t.”

“Sorry, Miki, I’m going Hot.”

I stabbed the needle into my thigh and pressed down on the plunger. The golden liquid inside disappeared into my bloodstream.

Concentrated Amber, a left-over chemical compound from the Cataclysm. Thirty times as potent as adrenaline. For most everyone, a dose this size would be fatal, but I was different. Gifted, as Viktor would say. And with his, shall we say, persistent guidance I had developed quite the tolerance for it. However, due to its addictive and potentially deadly side effects, it was only ever a last resort.

The effects were immediate and, admittedly, euphoric.

My pupils dilated and my heart blasted against my chest until it was the only thing I could hear. My skin crawled and my blood burned with a pleasurable pain. Sharp and completely enveloping, it felt like being on fire only you knew that the flames couldn’t hurt you, only spur you on. The taste of copper filled my mouth and all the colors in the world suddenly appeared more vibrant.

The smoke had almost completely dissipated when I looked out and saw the scene in front of me, all of it blurred somewhat from the potent high. The hospital bed was in the center of the hallway, riddled with bullets and dripping crimson with the near liquified remains of tenant 5564. The last two Specters stood, encased in their all-black armor, guns aimed up at me. In my altered state, I felt their fingers twitch before they even squeezed the trigger. I rushed forward and slid for the hospital bed, the bullets spattered the carpet, walls, doors, and then the hospital bed.

With one hand, I whipped my briefcase at the Specter to my right, it impacted hard against his helmet. With my other hand, I drew my handgun and fired three shots at the other man’s head. The bullets didn’t break through the armor, but they did cause him to stagger back against the wall. Each shot further compromised the helmet until the cracks resembled a series of spider webs amidst the night sky. The man on the right recovered first, but only in time for me to deliver a swift kick to his chest, followed by a leaping punch to his head. The force of the punch rebounded his head into the wall, forming a crater on the wall and causing him to fall limp to the floor. Turning, I fired four more shots at the last Spector, keeping him pinned to the wall as I came toward him.

In desperation, he cried out and lifted his sidearm. He fired twice, but his helmet was compromised, and he was shooting blind. I pushed him firmly against the wall and with one more punch the helmet’s armor broke and fell away like glass.

Clutching his throat, I pinned him to the wall. Most of his face was still hidden beneath that mask, only his left eye gazed back at me with an expression of terror. I held my handgun within an inch of his exposed flesh.

One shot. One more dead nobody. Just like any other day. And yet the fear in his eyes stopped me. Something about it, something… human.

The amber coursing through me was beginning to wear off, the taste of copper in my mouth was subsiding. Clarity, and all the weakness that came with it, returned.

“Damnit.” I said aloud before lowering my gun and thrusting the man’s head into the wall.

His eye rolled back, and he fell to the floor unconscious.

Checkmate.

4

I gave one last look at the results of my handy work. Three dead, two wounded. But I knew the headlines wouldn’t reflect that. They wouldn’t talk about the man who was little more than a dripping red mess among white sheets, or mention how the Specters who shot him were dispatched by a single assailant. And sentimental as it might have been for me to spare the last one, considering how harsh his debriefing was likely to be, it wouldn’t be much of a mercy. The once pristine halls of the top floor of Supertower R-832 were now just a macabre mess of bullet holes, blood, and corpses.

The real world had found its way to the top floor and as expected it left a mess.

It was at times like these, as I walked back into the apartment and approached the large window at the end of the room, that I considered leaving a calling card of some sort. A message written in blood, an innocuous object, or maybe a literal card. But, as always, I thought better of it. My work spoke for itself and the meager gratification of seeing whatever symbol I left behind projected on every big screen in the city when the authorities predictably decided to use it as another log in the fire of mass hysteria wasn’t enough for me to jeopardize my safety. No matter what, my actions today would be used as palatable propaganda for the masses. Another dreadful reminder that the streets were dangerous, and it was best to stay locked away in your homes, or inside your own head, where you were safe. Although that didn’t do much good for the chunky red smear in the hallway. Locked away in hedonistic fantasy, reality reached out and claimed him all the same. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy playing my part in his date with destiny. People like him were already dead, at least this way he was put to good use.

I guess, to be fair, there was some truth amidst all the fearmongering; hell, I was living proof of that. But it wasn’t about how dangerous the streets were, or how crime polluted the city almost as prominently as the radiation which laced the very air we breathe. It was the fact the Authority was worse. They welcomed the crime, the disease, the destitution. They knew it only opened new pathways for them to tighten their grip on all of us. Every bombing by the Primitives living in the Wasteland, or gangland skirmish, was just another opportunity for control. Solidarity through fear, the most potent and unshakable kind. You either swam with the sharks or better yet became one yourself, otherwise, you were just the chum they fed on.

I placed my hand on the window overlooking the grey clouds that called Metropolis One their home.

“Miki? Are we good?”

“Yes, Caela. On my way to you.”

“What’s the ride?”

“You’ll know it when you see it. Don’t you trust me?”

I didn’t dignify that with a response. More Specters were on their way up to my floor, I was sure of that. The Amber had burned out of my system completely and took most of my electrolytes and blood sugar with it. I would crash in the next five to ten minutes.

My hand pressed to the window, I used my overlay on my HUD to trigger the sonic pulse from my wristlet, a barely audible pitch pierced my ears before the glass in front of me shattered and blew away into the blackness of the storm. Perhaps nothing more than paranoia, I thought I heard the elevator door depressurize down the hall. I stood by the edge of the window, the wind and ice-cold rain thrashing into the room and nipping at what little skin was exposed on my face. Like a surge of electricity, instinct plucked at the back of my neck until I whipped around toward the door, my handgun drawn and ready.

The door to the hall was wide open, I saw nothing but couldn’t shake the feeling.

“Miki? I’m out of time.” I said, not taking my eyes off the door.

“So, buy more, Caela. I’m almost there.”

I stared at the door, aiming my handgun intently. Fighting back against the fatigue that weighed on my arms and eyes.

Nothing, nothing, then…

A shadow appeared on the left side of the door, they were stacking up and ready to breach. I couldn’t be sure how many there were, but with the amber depleting my system, one was enough to be a threat.

Fighting wasn’t an option.

I turned my head and looked out over the crackling grey clouds.

But what other choice did I have?

“Hey Miki,”

“I said I’m on my way Caela, I can’t go any faster than I already am!”

I ignored the AI’s outburst.

“You ever heard of a trust fall? Friends, real friends, do them all the time.”

Miki paused while he researched the term.

“I’m familiar with the term, but I don’t like where this is headed.”

“Me neither.” I said, my eyes staring down into the grey swirling abyss.

The Specter by the door turned into the room his AR raised just in time to watch me jump from the window.

For a few seconds, I was weightless. Falling far and fast into nothing, my eyes closed it wasn’t so bad as I thought. Miki would catch me, I believed that. But even if I was wrong, where was the tragedy in that? Metropolis one was no stranger to people throwing themselves off buildings, and here I was, just one more drop in the storm.

Then, just as that liberating acceptance hit me, so too did a firm metallic surface. I smacked hard against the wet metal and bounced onto my side. The landing was unforgiving, and I groaned in pain.

“Fucking hell…” I moaned. “You couldn’t have tried to soften it a little?”

Miki took a moment to reply.

“If you wanted painless, Caela, I could’ve just let you fall.”

“Fair point.” I conceded as I lifted myself up and took in my surroundings.

I was standing atop a rotund hovercraft built out of grey, reinforced titanium. Its exterior was covered in globules of high-powered light, designed to penetrate the dark clouds for safer travel through the city’s frequent storms.  

“A prisoner transport, how fitting,” I said.

“I knew you’d like it,” Miki replied. “Now please get in, Viktor is expecting us. And best not to keep the old man waiting for both our sakes.”

A circular hatch opened near the center of the Prisoner Transport, similar to that of a submarine. I limped my way toward it, the fatigue worsening, and my body aching from the fall. I turned and looked back as Miki flew the transport through the storm which pelted me from all around. Supertower R-832 was left in our wake as the Alert system blared into the night. No one panicked, no one fought back, and no one cared.

Just another night in Metropolis One.

I dropped through the hatch and into the transport.