June

Huge double doors slammed open. Expensive wood slammed against immaculate white walls. June burst in, a gun on either hip and one in each hand, blonde ponytail snapping behind her, metallic right wrist glimmering in the low light. “Alright, assholes! Where’s the kids?”

No one answered.

Her brows furrowed. Huh?

White marble spread out before her, gold veins snaking through the ivory stone. A grand double staircase led upward to the second story, traced by a golden handrail. Overhead, a crystal chandelier blazed, light redoubled off hanging mirrored panels, both ancient and modern at once. The white walls were accented with gold molding in a way that was both tasteful and ostentatious. White rug laid over the marble, a fine gold design threaded at its edge.

Security cameras turned automatically to record her. She whirled upward to face the gold panel hidden in front of the chandelier, which itself hid a turret, but the turret didn’t descend. No one ran down the grand stairwell or lunged out of the side rooms. The rug was wrinkled, and dark stains marred the white wall. The usual overbearing cologne was laced with something else, a metallic scent that tickled at the back of her mind, something she’d prefer to forget.

Her hands tightened on the guns, one with the clatter of metal-on-metal. Each footstep echoed off the marble floor and the immaculate white walls, too loud in her ears. “Uh, hello? Anyone?”

Bump. Bump. Bump.

Someone slid slowly down the stairwell and into her view, eyes rolled back, face pale, hands half-clenched around a cold gun. Bright red trailed behind them, splattering as his head hit each step, staining platinum-blonde hair crimson. Bump. Bump. Bump.

“Shit,” she muttered. Someone got here before me. She lifted a hand to her ear. “Tooly, stay in the car. Plan’s off.”

“What? What happened?”

June dropped her hand from her ear. She walked to the foot of the stairs and crouched by the body. With the muzzle of her gun, she nudged his head to the side. Platinum hair flopped over half-open eyes. A stab? Through the skull?

A chill shivered down her spine. The precision and power behind that blow were inhuman. Someone in harness made that blow.

But who would take on the Regis Group? They were one of the biggest criminal conglomerates in the city. Was it a rival gang trying to muscle in on their territory? Some kind of feud? A good-hearted attempt to help out people on the Block?

No way. I’m the only one that dumb.

A trail of blood and bodies led the way down the grand stairway and out of the foyer. Holstering one of her guns, she steadied the other in both hands and crept onward. Beneath her combat boots, the floor alternated between slick and tacky. Half her steps squeaked; the other half crackled through drying blood. It was impossible to move quietly, but she suspected she didn’t have to.

She turned down a hallway and froze.

Back here, the walls were simpler. Instead of chandeliers, tasteful gold and marbled glass fixtures beamed light from the walls. There was no rug, no molding. Some doors hung open, dark aside from a few bright lockscreens marking sleeping computers.

And the scent. Slaughterhouse. Filth. Battle. Blood splattered the walls and pooled on marble. Bodies slumped here and there, some half-out of open doors, others piled on top of one another in the main hallway. Bullet holes riddled the walls and floors, and casings rolled underfoot. Amid the wash of red, a few lucky black flies busily plucked at the soft places and warm blood.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

June held her breath, eyes narrowed against the burning scent. She hurried onward, high-stepping over the bodies. Flies buzzed in indignation when she drew too close, dissolved, and reformed behind her. A body slipped down the wall with an awful slurp, head bobbing on a half-cut neck.

“June, are you sure? What’s happening?”

She coughed and pulled her shirt over her mouth before responding. “Start the car. Now.”

The mess led to a bare concrete stairwell. She descended quickly, refusing to look at the shapes draped over the handrails or collapsed in heaps at the bottom. All wore the white suits associated with Regis Group, though most were some shade of red or pink now. Some were in harness, hands or ankles shining with metal or plasticated skin. It hadn’t helped them. Whatever had come through had murdered them all, indiscriminately.

So many dead. Is this an entire branch’s worth of men? The dread in her stomach grew worse. Who could wipe out an entire branch of the Regis Group without incurring a single casualty themselves? So precisely, too. None of the wanton destruction of an exo-harness. There were harnesses involved, no doubt, but partial harness or full harness, nothing more.

She flexed her right hand. Metal panels flashed on the back and up her arm, dulled with scars and scratches. Mechano-fibers pulled taut. Servos whirred, so quiet she barely heard them anymore. Partial harness? No. It would have to be full. You couldn’t wipe out an entire branch with any less.

It didn’t answer her question, but it did narrow down the pool of possibilities. Full harness was as rare as it was expensive. Few could afford, quite literally, to completely forsake their body for a mechanical one. Even those with extreme disabilities or medical requirements usually lacked the capital to afford full harness, and had to make do with partial where they most needed it. Only the rich were so lucky, if lucky was the word.

Still, which rich guy wants the Regis Group dead this bad?

The chill from the earth seeped from the walls and floor. A faint steam rose from the bodies. One shifted. June whirled and pointed her gun. A bloodstained man reached out for her. Blood poured from between his lips, and he choked, then collapsed back against the wall.

I’ve almost caught up.

At the end of the hall, a door hung ajar. Gunfire echoed abruptly from the other side, sharp enough she winced. She hurried for it, picking her way through the bodies. Blood splashed under her boots. She pressed herself against the doorframe and peered through the gap.

Three mobsters stood together in front of an iron-barred cage. A dozen kids hunkered within, dirty and tired. On the floor, a handful of white-suited bodies laid, limp and dead, or struggled, on the verge of death.

Midleap, a bloody knife in each hand, a slender child twisted gracefully. Jaw-length, pin-straight hair swished around his face like a curtain. Faint blue light traced after his eyes, a glow that hung in the air. He landed in a low crouch, spun, and unleashed one of his knives at a mobster. His left hand blurred into a sheen of chrome as he threw, mechanical parts lending the throw speed and strength his slender frame couldn’t.

June stared, mesmerized. It wasn’t killing. It was something more beautiful. A dance. Art. For a moment, she forgot where she was, or what she was doing, and just watched.

The knife sank between the center mobster’s brows. The man fell back, gun firing wildly as his limbs tensed in death. The remaining two mobsters pointed their guns at where the kid had been, but he was already gone.

He landed on the dead mobster’s body and yanked his knife free. The remaining men whirled toward one another and hesitated. To fire at each other from this close—

The kid didn’t hesitate. He leaped into a spin and snapped his legs out mid-turn. Feet met heads. Both mobsters staggered back. He didn’t let them recover. He chased after the left one first and slit the man’s throat. Crimson gushed. The other man shouted and fired. He spun, took a bullet on his silvery left arm, and threw the remaining knife with his right. The final mobster hit the floor, knife sticking out of his chest.

Even as he died, the mobster raised his arm in a last desperate ploy. His hand folded back at the wrist to reveal a barrel. A grim smile drew his lips tight. Through the blood, he coughed, “Die, fucker!”

The kid lunged at the mobster and stomped his arm to the ground. Bullets chipped the marble and slammed into the other mobster, but none touched the kid. Calmly, the kid reached down and yanked the knife out of the mobster’s chest. Bright red blood spurted. The mobster shuddered, and finally laid still, gun in his arm coughing out a final shot as he went.

Silence. Gray smoke curled upward from the dead man’s gun. The kids huddled in the cage leaned closer to one another. The older ones looked on with horrified eyes, while the younger ones sobbed or hid their faces.

In contrast, the dark-haired child expressionlessly retrieved his remaining knife, not so much as flinching as it squelched free. He looked at the kids in the cage, then bent and picked up a mobster’s gun. Almost casually, he leveled it at the cage.

The kids cringed back. One of them started to cry.

June blinked. Wait, what am I hiding back here for? She kicked the door open. “Hey!”

The child spun. The gun snapped to the door. Glowing blue eyes glared at her.