THE GUARDS ARE STILL CONVULSING by the time we make it to the cellblock. Three of them, a skeleton crew of thugs who were taking bets on live streams from the front lines in the Vents, now pissing themselves on the floor. I stand above the bodies on overwatch while Matthias gets to work on the door, pulse pistol trained on the rest of the barren lobby, three bullets lighter. Trigger finger twitching in response to every small electronic beep that comes from behind me, every faint rush of air from the climate control vents. Paranoia runs rampant through my nerves. Magnetically accelerated rounds don’t make much noise, but their sound is unmistakable. And it’s a wide open straightaway between us and the lift plaza. We’re totally exposed. A single glance at a security stream would instantly spot us. Any moment someone could turn the intersection and see the bodies.
For the fifth time, Matthias rises from psionically probing one of the twitching guards and returns to the reception desk, crouching behind a JOYless projector screen that holds the door controls. Isolated systems like these are always used in prisons. They’re one of the few things that’s completely Innovator proof- valuable thing to have, when there’s a class that can hijack any technology except a JOY. But the isolation is a two-edged knife that works in our favor this time, as it means no notifications about a half-dozen failed attempts to open the door will be passed to the rest of the Orange’s security mainframe.
“I can’t believe this,” Matthias grumbles at the projector screen. “Five, two, five… eight?” Red flash, angry beep from the display. “Gage’s virtues, how do none of them even know the code to their own prison?”
I lean over his shoulder, running my eyes down the screen. Dates and names fill the space behind a prompt for the door’s four-digit code. A list of inmates by order of incarceration. People with names like Iris, Fallow, Mobiak, and all the way at the top, Volt. Cell fifty. Matthias throws an uneasy glance towards the intersection, then notes how close we are in the corner of his eye. Remembering my place, I blow a couple strands of reddish hair away from my face and reach down to flip over the keyboard. There’s a diginote on the other side.
“Five two nine eight,” I snort.
“Oh.” Four key clicks later, the insulated blast doors releases a very satisfying clunk. “That was easy.”
After struggling to pull the bodies behind the desk- they’re pretty heavy, I’m the opposite- I take the lead and motion for Matthias to follow with two fingers. Two hands on the pulse pistol, barrel aimed forty-five degrees down, eyes sweeping the short metal tunnel on the other side of the bulkhead, gunslinging instincts ready for the slightest stimuli. Another set of interwoven blast doors blocks the way, this one with a physical lever keeping it closed. I kick my sandals into a corner and yank the lever down. The full metal door groans open. Silent and smooth and swift from then on. Drifting down a hexagonal hallway, bare feet padding atop the grated floor, quiet as a mouse. We’re so deep now that they don’t even bother with an illusion of glamor. Cells set in the angled walls line the path on both sides, their entrances sheened over by blistering orange repulsorfields. The black silk loincloth swishes between my legs. Sleeves on the robe get annoying real quick now that I’m running, so I rip it off and toss it into an empty cell. Freckles and goosebumps stipple my shoulders. I move faster.
I can feel the clock ticking, even if there’s no alarms sounding yet. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds those bodies. When they do…
My eyes dart over the cells we pass. Sleeping prisoners of the syndicate lay curled up on flat benches in barren wombs of black metal. Most are bruised and beaten, harmed in ways both material and non. A boy with missing ears huddles near the repulsorfield of his cell. Matthias’ eyes fill with a pity I’ll never truly understand the depths of, but it doesn’t slow him. The most dangerous inmates already felt the subtle vibrations of our feet and glower up through the orange barriers with hateful eyes as they watch us pass. Doesn’t take an expert to realize something’s not right with the two of us, but even if they were to scream and hammer at the walls, no one would hear them through a repulsorfield. Those things are used to contain fights at the Metro Blockhouse. At full strength, I’ve seen them eat back-to-back terajoule ki blasts and barely even flicker. A little yelling isn’t going to make it through that level of insulation.
We’re nearly halfway across the tower when we reach Volt’s cell. A long stretch of hexagonal hallway continues ahead until it ends at another bulkhead, where I’m sure there’ll be a second checkpoint waiting. Down in the cell, the grievously injured mercenary sits slumped against the hard metal wall with his head bowed, a piece of his scalp missing. His buttoned shirt is opened down the middle, revealing blood soaked bandages wrapping over the two bullet holes in his chest. Lesser bruises and injuries mangle his once proud frame. He doesn’t even look up when my shadow first falls across the cell. No fight left; he knows he’s a prisoner on death row. Just waiting for the guillotine.
Lit from below by the colored repulsorfield, I use a wall-mounted knob to turn down the soundproofing and rap my knuckles against the field. A static shock jumps through my arm as I make contact. Small rings of dispersing force ripple across the translucent barrier. That gets his attention. He looks up, eyes hazed with pain. Uncomprehending at first, then disbelieving as he sees through the disguise. His voice warbles from the cell.
“Emilia Mori, in the scandalously clad flesh. I must be dreaming.” He squints at Matthias next, like he’s looking at a stranger. “If this is some sort of elaborate attempt at information extraction, I assure you I know nothing important about Nero’s holdings. I’m just a mercenary.”
Matthias sighs. “We don’t have time for this. It’s not a dream, Volt. We’re breaking you out.”
“Oh? Prove it. An Iros can wear any mask their victim’s mind can create, as you should well know.”
The Psi crosses his arms. “You really want me to do this in front of Mori?”
“Humor me.”
He reactivates the comm in his ear. “Lain, Volt needs a little positive reassurance.” Waits a moment, looking off into space, then back down into the cell. “She said that you’ve got a really small-”
The merc bolts to his feet in an instant, smirk morphing to horror. “-that’ll be enough, thank you very much. Matthias! You handsome devil you.” He limps over to the repulsorfield, running his eyes up me with a raised eyebrow. “Those furs were doing you a grand disservice. Quite the surprise you have going on beneath.”
“Keep digging,” I drawl, lifting my finger away from the repulsorfield’s toggle. “I’ve clearly got all night.”
“Yes, well, I assure you that I do not.” He splays his hands and executes a comically injured bow. “If it means being sprung from the syndicate guillotine, I have no compunctions about getting on my knees and begging. Or more. You have but to ask.”
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“That’s more like it.” I mash the toggle with the butt of the pulse pistol, clearing the distortion between us.
“Neither of you look very injured…” he says with a leading tone.
“No shit. You think I came here for you?”
“It would certainly warm my heart if you said so.”
“We made a detour to get you. Unplanned,” Matthias says. His eyes dart back from the way we came, feeling the same growing pressure that I do. We’ve got minutes at most before someone finds those bodies. Less if the electrolytics wear off first. “We can’t take you with us where we’re going. Can you move?”
Volt rolls his neck from side to side, then sweeps his fade back down the middle of his head. His eyes arrest me. “Before I answer that question, it would be pertinent to know where you are going. Knee deep in the heart of the Orange, I imagine-”
I cock my head to the side, fresh out of patience. “We’re paying the Executor a visit. You’re not coming with.”
“Ah… but I am free to leave. I see where this is going.” He shakes his head at me. “You’re insane if you think you can kill that monster. I doubt even the Champion could.”
“Thanks for the concern. You should focus on escaping.”
“Escaping. On my own, from the Orange.” He looks around the narrow confines of the cell. “Given those odds, I believe I’d rather stay here.”
“Let me rephrase that.” The pulse pistol cocks and starts whining a rising, feral tone. “Ever heard the phrase voluntold?”
“I don’t have a JOY. I have no access to my classes or weapons. So unless you have something else for me hiding in that rather ravishing getup- not impossible, just improbable- I, and I am putting this lightly, am going to be butchered.”
He’s not wrong. Cycling the pistol off with a flick of my thumb, I toss it to him and summon up a copy of the 6-Teba using my JOY. “That’s all I can get you. There’s extra ammo out front. Bodies under the desk.”
Volt turns the weapon over, clearly unfamiliar with its shape, but not unwilling to give it a try. He’s an Assassin and an Elemental by classes, not a Gunslinger like me. An extremely dangerous fighter nonetheless. Even without a JOY to guide his aim and control the recoil, it doesn’t take a genius to point and click. And in the field of combat, this guy is way closer to a genius than a dunce.
“I believe we have a deal,” he says, stepping out of the cell. “Which way is out?”
Matthias points back the way we came from. “We’re on the third story of the Orange’s central tower. Lifts are the only way to travel vertically on the inside.”
“Definitely not up to fire code, that.”
Matthias rolls his eyes. “They’re well aware. The lifts are programmed to only respond to digital signatures of syndicate employees. You’ll have to acquire one or use the shaft itself.”
“And make plenty of noise on my way out, whichever I choose.” Volt looks to me for confirmation. “What direction would you prefer I made my egress, Mori?”
I glance both ways, run the numbers, and nod at the further exit; towards the lobby we didn’t clear. We still have an opening, and I don’t want to risk ruining it with another fight. Volt, on the other hand…
“You up for getting the shit end of this bargain?” I ask him.
His shoulders lift in a humored shrug. “What’s the point of betting on green if you don’t go big?”
-
Back in the lobby. Bodies still hidden, no alarms flashing on the desk. Through strained eyes, I check the time on the display before motioning for Matthias to follow. He pauses only to psionically force the guards into deeper slumber before hurrying after me towards the lift. We make it to the intersection without another encounter. I check both corners with the 6-Teba. The hallways stretch on for dozens of meters along the tower perimeter, empty save for the closed doors that protrude from the inner wall at irregular intervals. Slowly, my trigger finger relaxes.
“Too quiet,” I murmur, skipping across the intersection. Matthias takes my JOY and uses it to call for a lift. “It’s five in the morning. People should be up by now.”
He gazes through humidity-streaked glass windows, watching the conflagration glowing on the undercity horizon. “I imagine they’re a little preoccupied with the mess Krey is making. He seems to be doing a good job of it.”
“Yeah. Maybe I’m just jumpy.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not alone in it.” He taps his ear as the lift arrives and opens. “Lain is getting adamant about you turning your comm back on.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn the volume back on and clear the inside of the lift first, letting Matthias queue us up for the sixth floor. Lain’s voice returns with a pop and a crackle.
“Hello, fucko. Nice job muting me.”
I can’t help the smirk that flits across my lips. “Stop being a distraction and I won’t have to.”
“When you get back, we’re going to see how good that Martial Artist programming is. God I hate pulling overwatch duty.” She pauses as we start to ascend, interference crackling through the comm. “I know what I said earlier. But… thanks for getting Volt out. What Dynasty does to prisoners…” I can almost see her shudder. “No one deserves that. And he’s not a bad guy.”
“You two knew each other.”
“Yeah. Ran some gigs together. Before he started moving up, and I stayed in the same place. Before Matthias.”
“Mori!”
I glance over at Matthias. “What?” He’s wide-eyed and pointing to the controls. I see it a moment later. Someone just called for stop on the fifth floor. “Lain, we’re going silent.”
The lift is already slowing. I jump to Matthias’ other side and make myself small in the corner of the lift, staring out the tube at the burning horizon. Keep an eye on the door through the reflection. Shoulders bare, back bare, suddenly clammy, feeling all the exposure at once. Matthias smooths out his robe beside me, carefully steepling his fingers. Then his eyes dart down to my hip, right as an electroclub beat starts pouring through the doors.
“The gun!” he hisses.
My fingers move faster than they ever have before, dispelling the 6-Teba the instant before an absolute hulk of a shadow lumbers into the lift. Liquor on his breath. Black suit, orange trim, orange jewelry over sausage-thick fingers that squeeze an entire bottle of Nirvalian Blue like it’s a child’s neck. Bald and wrinkled head atop a bulldog neck. A simian killer, massively shouldered, who I recognize in a heartbeat.
The hovertech sags literal inches as Carto Bask settles in place. The doors hiss shut. Frozen in place, I watch the tide of his attention gradually drift from us to the light of the sixth floor, already keyed. Thick fingers palm the iridescent bottle. Something else, some other meeting already on his mind. His fattened face pinches up.
“Yew smell that?” the gangster suddenly mutters, sniffing the air.
I say nothing. Matthias stands perfectly still.
Carto’s snuffling comes to a stop. I look up in the glass to find his eyes boring into me, right as his voice sinks to a throaty growl.
“Smells like rat.”