“Alright. Let’s get started.” Touch says, clapping his hands together.
Three of Jonah’s crew drove up from Mayvern after Touch sent word that they received the devices. He had shown everyone into the main room and politely asked the myriad of travelers present if they could have the room for a private meeting, and they all cleared out. He told the remaining party to get comfortable while he took a shower. Touch came back just as shirtless as before, he multi tasked working out on the gymnastics rings and training Arch, the only difference being the black pajama bottoms and the smell of eucalyptus deodorant.
The plan was simple. They had three fake devices. They needed to switch them for three real ones without anyone noticing or looking too closely.
“So, we are going to fabricate a new terrorist cell, and welcome these corporate lackeys to the neighborhood.” as Touch put it.
They were going to track down and ambush three militia police cruisers, strip down and blindfold the drivers, then throw all their equipment in the car before burning it. After switching out the scanners, of course.
“Take no equipment from the police. The less loose ends they have to track down, the sooner they can give up.”
They had three chances to get this right, so it was more important to make sure no one learned about the fake scanners than it was to get the real thing. They could always retreat and try again if things went wrong, but once the militia learn about the fakes, the whole operation was blown.
“And I will have zero casualties. Understand? On either side. We don’t need the heat that will bring. Theft and arson is one thing, assault and murder is a whole other.”
This fictional terrorist cell will strike outside Sancam, but will look like they came from, and retreated to, Mayvern. Crossing borders will hopefully cause friction between the two towns. Sancam will be pressured to find out who cost AriCorp money, and Mayvern won’t like another team coming in and investigating their turf. They already have a high crime rate and don’t want to report a legitimate terrorist cell based in their backyard to their bosses.
“Or have AriCorp find out just how high the crime rates really are.” One of Jonah’s men, Wyatt, chimes in. The other two laugh.
There will definitely be a crackdown and an investigation over this, but Jonah’s men vouch that they, and the people of Mayvern, could handle it.
So here she was, two days later, lying in the middle of the road. The sun was overcast by a patchy blanket of gray and white. So at least the asphalt was cool. She was wearing a black hoodie and ski mask, with a ridiculous rendition of a stenciled Japanese demon head spray-painted on the breast.
“Hows it going?” Touch’s fuzzy voice sounds through her earpiece. Ortega delivered some secure radios along with their fake scanners.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
She squeezes the button taped to the side of her finger. “More comfortable than I thought. I could take a nap.”
“Oh, were we not supposed to be doing that?” Sarah’s voice chuckles. Touch sighs.
Touch had set up on the left side of the road, lying prone in the trees. Their getaway driver, a seventeen-year-old named Sarah, was parked around the bend of the road, concealed by a hill. Rachel occasionally smells the exhaust from her car when the breeze is right.
“We got company. Look alive and play dead.” Touch cuts in.
Rachel hears the car speed down the road towards her. A few seconds after they should have seen her, she hears no signs of them slowing.
“Uhhh…”
“They see you. They’re slowing.”
She hears the vehicle barely slow. The sound grows uncomfortably closer, the seconds stretch uncomfortably long, until it grinds to a halt. She can smell sweet coolant leaking from the engine. The driver’s side door clicks open.
“Miss? Miss? Are you alright?”
She needs them both out of the car.
“W-water…” she whispers weakly.
The driver leans over her.
“What was that!? Water!?” He asks way too loud and way too obnoxiously.
“Waaterrr…” she repeats.
“Dave! Dave! Get some water out the trunk!”
She hears the front door open, a panicked pair of feet scuttle to the trunk. She sits up weakly. Then props herself up on the hood of the car, sending the driver into a frenzy.
“Whoa there miss, don’t move around so much… What's wrong with your stomach?” He asks. She was griping her stomach, a pink ethereal glow erupting from her fist. She doubles over the hood as if to vomit.
“What the…” The guy walking around the passenger’s side trails off, peeking through the top of his shades.
She dry heaves twice, one hand on the hood, one hand holding a pillar of pink electricity arching from the hand at her belly button. The two back away slowly. Rachel leans back and gives her best death metal impression as a dark, curved blade burst from her stomach. The two militia men scream as she drives the dark opalescent blade through the hood, hopefully hitting the center console, and the radio within. She pulls the blade out and levels it at the driver’s throat before he can recover his wits. Out the corner of her eye, she can see the other one going for his gun.
“Don’t do it.” Touch says from behind. The man jumps, then turns to see a large ninja, with a demon head spray painted on the breast of his pull over hoodie, leveling a pistol from his hip.
“Hands up.” Rachel says.
“That was a time-consuming and overly dramatic performance. Excellent work.” Touch says.
He looks at the two militiamen, pistol in one hand, zip-ties in the other.
“Now both of you get naked.”
Less than ten minutes later, they were driving away. A pillar of thick black smoke rising from around the bend. Rachel sits in the back, a device scanner in her hand, heavier than the one she held before.