“Never a dull day when you’re working for- for our boss.” Willy purposely didn’t say Walker’s name. Our radios’ encryption was supposed to be unbreakable, but so was lots of broken shit. “Let me just…” He pulled a carbon-fiber wand off his chest rig and extended it. It had a camera on it, if I remembered right, for looking around corners. He stuck it out just past the edge of the safe, low to the floor.
“Ah. Now that’s interesting-“ The tip of the wand disappeared in a flash of light bright enough to dim my cameras, though the rest didn’t fly out of Willy’s hand. There was a burnt spot on the carpet now, too, with a smoking patch of concrete within. And I swore I’d seen, for just an instant, a faint orange beam pierce the dust and smoke…
“That was a fucking laser!” I almost shouted, half excited and half terrified. “I heard there were prototypes, but-“
“Yes, somebody thought this would be an easy mission and broke out their new toy,” Willy finished sourly. “This does give me an idea, though. There can’t be that many Masks, or we’d have seen them already. Here’s what we’ll do…” He explained quickly. “Ready?”
I took position, ready to shoot around the corner of the safe. “Go ahead.”
“Got it. Out.” He tossed several grenades over the safe, one after another. Two were smokes, the others frags. As the latter started going off I leaned out as little as I could and lit up the Mask positions ahead of us. They were taking cover in the maze of safes at the far end of the vault, though none were nearly as large as ours. After a few long bursts I leaned back in, and nearly quick enough too. Just as I thought I was safe a truck seemed to hit my shoulder plate, tearing it off and slamming me to the ground. I ended up behind cover, luckily. That guy with the sabot rifle was a good shot.
But even on the ground, I smiled at what I heard next. First another grenade. Then the throaty bang of Willy firing a solid slug. And then, a hiss like a cutting torch that rapidly increased in volume to a wrenching explosion.
I pulled myself up just in time to see Willy duck back into cover. “You alright?” he asked, concern in his voice.
“Just hit the armor. Everything still works. Did you get it?”
“Oh, yeah. That one won’t be getting up again without a trip to the chrome shop. Think…have you ever seen a wax candle that’s burned too long?” There were all sorts of nasty, volatile chemicals in those prototype lasers, along with a very big battery. A bullet wasn’t good for either of those things, and they were worse for the man holding them- even if he was armored.
“No, but I can imagine. Ready?” I held Agatha out to him.
“Yes. The smoke ought to- oof!- be thick enough by now. Good hunting.” He took the gun and dropped into a crouch.
“Same.” The saw rang faintly as I dragged free of its sheath. “Just keep them off me.”
“That won’t be an issue.” I dropped my three remaining belts next to him and edged over to the corner. The smoke was thick indeed, but I still waited for Willy to open up with the .50 before loping into the haze. I moved a little faster without the machine gun and ammo, and more importantly made less noise. If one of those Masks spotted me they’d pot me like Alba kids shooting an albino monkey. I’d probably face a worse fate than the inside of a stew pot, too.
They didn’t. I heard the harsh blasts of the sabot rifle, as well as a rapid-fire rattle I couldn’t identify. No more laser beams seared through the smoke, though. Hopefully that one really was out for the count. I moved towards the rifle shots- that was by far the most dangerous weapon.
They seemed to be coming from behind a tall, almost cube-shaped safe about ten feet high. I stayed low as I could, trying to conceal myself behind intervening boxes. I found myself squinting, though it would do nothing to make the Zamok’s optics see better. Finally I spotted a murky shape through the smoke. It seemed to be looking away from me, so I charged.
By the time the Mask noticed me and turned I was almost on them. Their armor was dark gray, sleeker than the Zamok, and its overlapping plates made it look almost like a fantasy knight’s. Its faceplate was blank except for the two round eyeports, empty and black as a skull’s. In the Mask’s hands was a long, bulky rifle, its huge muzzle brake still smoking. It began to rise, but too late.
I swung the saw across my body like I was trying to cut the Mask in half. It crashed into their breastplate, squealing as it etched a furrow across without truly biting. I was already grabbing the sabot rifle’s barrel with my other hand, twisting and wrenching at it. Whether due to my strength, the Zamok’s, or simple leverage, I was able to tear it out of the Mask’s gauntlet and toss it aside. My reward was an armored fist cracking into my helmet hard enough to send a wave of static though my vision. I lashed out with the saw and hit nothing. My opponent had backed up a little, and now drew a combat knife from their belt. It buzzed into a blur, same as the saw, and its blade was the same sparkly-gray of tungsten and diamondoid. I had reach and strength, they had speed. Time to see which was worth more.
The three cuts I took almost immediately began to answer that question. None got through the armor, but I was still trying to block the first when the third hit, scraping across my forearm. I was just too damn slow. I took an upward swing but my opponent leaned away almost contemptuously before lunging at my throat. I jerked aside and their knife- knifesaw?- chattered off the Zamok’s high gorget. That gave me an idea. Maybe I had experience on my side too. Sure, the Mask had training, but as far as I knew I was Savlop-2’s foremost sawsmanship expert. I knew the its disadvantages well, and I could use that.
I moved forward, acting rash and aggressive and not having to try very hard at it. A clumsy downstroke at the Mask’s head left my blade low and out of the way. They darted in and struck at the space between helmet and collar, exactly what I wanted. As the knife hit I tilted my head, trapping the blade. For a split second I was deafened as it vibrated my whole helmet- then with a metallic spang it snapped.
I wrapped my free hand around the Mask’s shoulders like I was giving them a hug, not letting them pull away. My other hand was trapped between us, holding the saw. It screamed as I hit the trigger and shoved it into the Mask’s belly plating. They punched me, kneed me, hammered at my head, but my size and the Zamok’s heavy armor kept me safe. They couldn’t reach the pistol on their waist either, not with me and the saw in the way. I focused on keeping the blade cutting true so I didn’t do the same thing the Mask did.
Finally the Mask grabbed me back and heaved upward, falling back to bring us to the ground. I let off the trigger just long enough to take the impact, then reared up enough to clear the blade and kept cutting. The fall must have cracked something, for after a moment the saw really bit. It chewed through the last of the external plating, the internal spall liner, impact gel, aramid body suit- and then red mist fountained up as teeth met flesh. I grinned behind my faceplate, pushing harder, rocking the blade back and forth until I’d almost reached the floor. The Mask’s strikes weakened before they went limp and still. A rich, dark joy oozed through me. I’d just killed one of Admin’s own Enforcers.
The Mask hadn’t made a noise the whole time, I realized. Maybe they were made mute, or had their pain receptors disabled. Creepy as hell either way. I stood and sheathed the saw, then grabbed the sabot rifle from the ground. I set the muzzle against the Mask’s eyeports and pulled the trigger. The damn thing kicked so hard it would have jumped out of my hand if not for the Zamok’s strength, but it also blew the back out of the Mask’s head. Better safe than sorry.
“Big guy’s down,” I sent.
“Perfect. See if you can’t take care of this other one, would you?”
“Got it.” New toy in hand, I moved to help Willy. He was still banging off shots from the .50, still being answered by a rapid-fire rattle. I moved towards the latter noise, passing between safes. Then, towards the back of the room where the air was clearer, I spotted a long table with a chair at each end. One was empty. The other was occupied by a Fomorii who’d had his skull as thoroughly evacuated as the Mask I’d just killed. Maybe negotiations had broken down, or our arrival had made them do so. And this meant our goal was probably nearby.
I raised my new rifle and moved in, keying my radio. “Hey, I think I found-“
There was a gunshot, and at the same instant the sabot rifle exploded in my hands. “Fuck!” I stumbled back and only narrowly avoided tripping.
“What is it?” squawked my radio. “You good?”
I didn’t answer right away, too busy staring at the new arrival who’d walked out from behind a safe at the back of the room. They were unarmored, wearing a finely tailored suit of deep blue, but what I noticed first were the pointy catlike ears atop their head. Another genemod like the Montesquieu’s. Happily, this one looked a lot less like Pengyi. Their face was androgynous, but longer and with higher cheekbones than Kafka’s. They had red-brown skin and dark hair cut in a short bob. In one hand they held a heavy-looking armored case, which was undoubtedly our goal. In the other was a long, smoking pistol, still aimed at me.
Did- did they just shoot down the barrel of my fucking gun? It was impossible. Or ought to have been, anyway, but I couldn’t think of another reason for the thing to just blow up the way it had.
“Hey, I said-“
“I’m good, man. Just got a new arrival to deal with here.” I finally answered Willy while I still had the chance. “You be okay while I handle this?”
“Yes, but-“
I stopped paying attention as the genemod spoke in calm, neutral tones. “I will give you this one chance to surrender. Do so and I will request of my master than he be lenient when it comes time for your punishment.” Eyes of deep, deep green bored into mine.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen. “Counteroffer,” I spat through the speakers. “You leave the case and walk out of here alive.”
“You ask me to disobey my master, and shame him by doing so. That will not happen.” They sighed, sounding genuinely disappointed. “On your head be it.” I’d expected as much. My hand crept toward the revolver on my belt as the genemod gently set down the case. “Know that you will be slain by Ravelay, loyal servant of Aurelio Nkosana Tanaka Cromwell, and that it is a far better end than you deserve.”
I didn’t bother answering, instead drawing my revolver and yanking the trigger as best I could with the Zamok’s slow fingers. It didn’t matter much anyway. I got off one shot before the big pistol shattered in my hand, and it went wild anyway. This Ravelay was a real deadeye. They kept shooting, the slugs hitting hard and exploding against my armor. Instead of drawing the saw I hunkered down, not wanting that to get shot up too. Three rounds hit my helmet in quick succession, rattling my head and and making my vision system polarize as they burst. It brightened to reveal Ravelay lunging right at me with inhuman speed, a strange dagger in one hand. My dodge had barely gotten started when they jammed it into the Zamok’s armpit joint. There was an uncomfortably loud crackle as the genemod shot past me, and my HUD went wild, random warnings flashing as it crazed with static. The motivators gave a queasy flutter, my limbs suddenly near as heavy as with the armor off. I thudded down to one knee, unable to react in time.
Then even more weight settled on my back and something pressed against the Zamok’s neck seal. A rhythmic burring sound resonated through the helmet, the thing at my throat buzzing back and forth. Felt almost like a string- fuck. Kafka’d had a garrote with them, coated in artificial diamond. Ravelay probably had the same, and it was already pressing harder against my throat. I flailed backward, but the Zamok’s bulky arms didn’t have the flexibility to reach them. My windpipe was being squeezed shut even through the seal, but if their wire could cut aramid fiber that fast strangling was the least of my concerns. I’d just get decapitated.
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I shoved to my feet against the Zamok’s protesting servos and tried to remember where the closest safe was. Staggering backwards, almost falling, I felt the weight leave my back an instant before I clanged into something solid. There it was. I yanked the electric knife out of my armpit while I had a chance. That hadn’t gone through all the way, but I could smell chemical smoke inside my helmet, leaking through the seal. They’d almost given me a taste of my own medicine.
Ravelay stood in front of me now, watching me coolly as they drew another knife. Not a strand of hair was out of place, and their suit was hardly rumpled. Off to my left I heard more gunfire, but Willy was on his own for now. Turn my back on this genemod and I was dead. I reached for the saw and my hand clanked against my hip, finding only air. Motherfucker. They’d cut my belt. The saw lay by the table, far out of reach- but the Zamok’s systems were already settling down, strength returning to its limbs. There was that KT Bureau toughness. I flexed my fingers. Ravelay looked at me with undisguised disgust and charged.
They shot up so fast I almost lost track, obviously enhanced. This time I was expecting it and had already started moving, stepping in and to their side. Their knife slid harmlessly across my forearm, but they turned on a heel and lashed out again. From there it was a dangerously lopsided fight. I was so slow I had to block with a minimum of movement, never overextending and hardly having an opportunity to attack. By the way they dodged, though, one good hit from me would break them. That copper-edged knife flickered about too fast to see, scraping against my chestplate, elbow guards, dangerously close to the split neck joint. I barely managed to keep it out of the soft spots.
Suddenly Ravelay jumped back and I took a chance, lunging out much farther than I had yet. It had worked on that Fomorii- but Ravelay was faster yet. They skipped out of reach, pistol appearing in their hand and banging out three shots. The noise was deafening as they smashed into my neck and detonated. The Zamok’s high gorget kept them from punching through my throat, but my vision was filled with light and acrid smoke both inside and outside the helmet. Tiny fragments stung the skin of my neck as they ricocheted through the breached seal.
On pure instinct I threw an arm up in front of my neck. It was barely enough to deflect Ravelay’s dagger into my helmet, and my vision got grainier as some of the microcameras were destroyed. I lashed out with a fist but they’d already vaulted over my shoulder. With a sudden, tremendous burst of strength they smashed the dagger into the gap left by my missing shoulder plate- and this time it pierced flesh.
It was like the time I’d zapped myself with my dad’s TIG welder, only a thousand times worse. Every one of my muscles went painfully tense and hard like I was pushing the heaviest lift of my life. I actually felt my teeth creaking as my jaw clenched. Then…then a strange, cold feeling ran through me, like my veins were full of ice water, and the seizing lessened. The electricity was still there, but now I could move through it if I strained. Pushing hard against the suit’s resistance, I reached up and tore the dagger free, turning at the same time. A bullet caromed off the angled plates of my helmet, and I found myself facing Ravelay’s pistol. Behind it they had a look of mild surprise on their face.
“Odd…” they muttered, trigger finger tightening. I lurched up as best I could against the Zamok’s struggling motivators, but I was barely too far away. This one would go straight through my throat and blow my head clean off-
A burst of reedy gunfire rattled off to my left, and Ravelay’s body seemed to sprout a crop of dull gray darts. Willy. That was some serious dermal armor. None the worse for wear, their pistol snapped towards him- and then my arms clasped around their back as I tackled them. Somehow they remained upright despite the weight. Their arms were trapped, but they still triggered shots into my thigh plate until their gun ran dry. All glanced off. They had to know it was over.
There was no begging for mercy, though. No contrition. No gracious nod for the victor. Just cold certainty. “There will be consequences for this,” they told me in an eerily calm voice. “You may think you know whom you have offended, but you do not. You will pay for this offense against Lord Cromwell. You. Your family. All those you love and call ‘friend’, each and every one will-“
I squeezed, squeezed hard as I could until the Zamok’s servos grew hot against my skin, until Ravelay’s reinforced ribs crackled and their spine wrenched apart like an over-torqued bolt. Their voice cut off, but into silence, not a sound of pain. Those dark green eyes stayed fixed on mine even through the visor, even as some thick scarlet blood-subsitute trickled from the corner of their mouth. Even as the life went out of them, they still stared.
Breathing hard, muscles aching all over, I let the corpse fall. Even crumpled it hit the floor heavier than its size would suggest. A few warnings remained lit up on my HUD, but they weren’t severe. The suit already seemed to be working as normal. At the sound of approaching footsteps I looked over and saw Willy. There were a few more bullet impacts on his exo, but he seemed none the worse for wear. He came over to stand beside me, looking down at Ravelay’s body.
“Well, then. I’ve heard strong women give the best hugs, but here’s the proof.”
“Hilarious. When’s your next gig? I’ll come heckle you.”
He didn’t answer, inpecting the corpse for another moment. “A Varangian,” he finally said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“That’s what they’re called?” It wasn’t a word I’d heard before.
Willy nodded. “Private bodyguards. Only high-end Administrators can afford them, I’ve heard. They’re pretty dangerous, but I think you figured that one out already. They give them those ears so people know they aren’t human.”
I clamped my teeth together before I could say anything. Pengyi was as human as I was. Maybe more, considering my own issues. Ravelay or Kafka were a lot different, though, and now wasn’t the time for an argument. “Yeah, I think so too,” I finally got out. “Thanks for the assist, speaking of. They were tougher than they looked.”
“But of course. Life would be less interesting without my best student.”
“Seriously, thanks,” I said with a snort. I kept looking at the dead genemod. I couldn’t help but think killing them was a little different than ventilating Argent Fists. The mercs were just out for a paycheck and were too unscrupulous to care who paid it or why. These Varangians, though…from what little interaction I’d had with them they were devoted to their Admin masters with a fervor that bordered on religious- or maybe even went past. Was it upbringing? Conditioning? Some implant or genetic tweak in their heads? I wondered if killing somebody with no choice but to support their cause was more or less bad than killing someone who did. After a few moments without an answer I shook my head. I’d leave solving that kind of quandary to people whose heart was actually in it.
“I’m guessing that’s what we came for?” Willy interrupted my maudlin little reverie, pointing to the hard-sided black case Ravelay’d carried.
“I don’t see what else it would be.” I stomped over and picked up the armored valise. Even accounting for the Zamok’s assistance it wasn’t heavy. “Fucking thing’s locked, of course.”
“That’s a problem for later. As long as you don’t see anything else, I think we’re good to go.” We looked around the negotiating table, but found nothing but the case. I gave a cursory rifling to the dead Fomorii’s pockets but found nothing more interesting than his slab’s background screen- Princess Deya fanart showing one of her princely suitors in a rather compromising position. I laughed and tossed it to Willy. “Good taste, for a Fomorii bastard,” he chuckled.
I went to go back over to him, but then Ravelay’s body caught my eye for a different reason. “Willy. You got any incendiaries on you? Thermite, phosphorus, MagFlow, something like that.”
“A couple of each, why?”
“We ought to burn the bodies, the Masks and the Varangian, at least. Who knows what kind of recording implants or whatever they have.” There was nothing to say a bionic eye or power-armor gun cam had to stop recording when its owner got smoked. If they were smoked, for that matter. You heard rumors of people uptown getting really drastic augmentations, or even full-body prostheses. I’d seen proof of neither, but this was Admin we were dealing with. Who was to say one of those Masks hadn’t had his brain moved into his chest cavity or something, and was just waiting to be cleaned up and dropped into a new rig?
Willy only thought about it briefly. “Why not? We’ll want to leave right afterward, though. Place probably won’t burn down, but it’ll still be hotter than a Nineteenth Ward sauna when that power-armor fuel leaks.”
“Sucks for them, I guess.” Nineteenth Ward in D-block had been abandoned ever since a reactor melted down there before my dad was born. Compared to a whole neighborhood I wasn’t inclined to care much about dusting one bank in K-block. Hopefully that lady in the office didn’t take my instructions too literally and was smart enough to leave.
We gathered up the dead Masks into a pile. The one whose laser melted down had to be scraped up like char off a grill, and the third one that Willy killed on his own looked to have had a grenade go off literally in his armpit. “Lucky toss,” he explained. He slung the Mask’s weapon onto his back, too, some kind of hulking automatic shotgun with an over-barrel grenade launcher. “Not really my taste, but it’s an Amsidyne. Worth good money.”
Ravelay went on top of the heap, then Willy arranged his incendiary grenades. “Right. Give me a sec to call the slicers.” I went and got Agatha and reloaded while he radioed them and they in turn talked to Walker. “They’ll come get us at the loading dock in sixty seconds. It’s warm and getting hotter out there, so be ready.”
“Yep.” That was no surprise. I checked the clock, finding we’d been in here more than ten minutes. That seemed like it was longer and shorter than it had felt all at once. Willy pulled the pin on his final MagFlow grenade, set it atop the pile and leapt away. We waited just long enough to watch it go off with a muted pop. It sent a flow of thick, white-hot liquid burning across the bodies, something between molten metal, napalm, and burning magnesium. We turned and jogged out of the vault, the hiss of chemical flames on our heels.
If anyone hadn’t been in the vault gunfight, they’d had the sense to cut and run. We met no resistance on the way to the loading dock. When we got there the lights were off, the bay door closed. Shelves full of office supplies lined the bare conplas walls, and I nearly tripped over a hand truck someone hadn’t bothered putting away. From outside the door came a few desultory gunshots, as well as a sound I’d never before heard in person- police sirens.
“Finally I’ve got a signal,” muttered Willy. “They’re almost here.” He got the bay door unlocked and I positioned myself to throw it open. Not ten seconds later I heard the roar of an engine and a beeping horn from right outside. I sent the door clattering upward to reveal Walker’s van, its rear gate already open. Willy jumped in with the case in hand and I followed, the van’s springs sagging. Bodine and Xiomara greeted us, slapping us on the shoulders- on my uninjured side, luckily. The latter had a freshly bandaged cut on her arm and both were smudged with gunsmoke. Walker burned rubber out of the loading dock before we even got the doors shut.
“Y’all two alright-“ Walker tried to call. He was interrupted by a distant but deafening CRACK, one that made even the sabot rifle sound quiet.
“Ofidio’s earning his pay today,” remarked Willy.
“Damn straight he is. That railgun’s somethin’.” Up in the driver’s seat, Walker glanced back for a moment. “You got what we came for?”
Willy passed up the case. “It’s locked, but the Admin agent was holding on to it. There wasn’t anything else.”
“Good,” said Walker, sticking the case between the seats. “Imagine going to all this trouble to steal something you don’t even know what it is.”
“I thought the point was Admin not getting it,” I said as I tried to grab the flapping rear doors. Through the opening I saw flashing blue and red cop lights, along with a few yellow muzzle flares. “Or at least, the Cromwells not getting it.”
I could hear the sly smile in his reply. “You had it the first time. Now let’s skedaddle afore the cops lock this place down even harder- shit!” Through the windshield I got a brief glimpse a big gluey blob of…glue, I guess, slapping onto the road. I’d seen those in movies before. Cops shot them out of a sort of grenade-launcher. There were a bunch of tangled-up fibers mixed in with the sticky stuff, all meant to stop a vehicle in its tracks. My glimpse was brief because Walker jerked the wheel to one side just in time to miss it. I felt two of the van’s wheels leave the ground as it did its best to roll over.
Shoving off the bench, I got as close to the inside wall as I could to shift the weight. It worked, and the tires slammed down with a jolt that surely blew out the shocks if they weren’t already. The only problem was that I lost my footing, fell flat on my back like a flipped roach, and slid straight out the open back before I could grab hold of anything.
I barely noticed the impact onto the road. My greater fear, as hopefully irrational as it was, was that they hadn’t noticed me fall. For a second the van kept going and my heart sank. Bullets from the police line fwipped past me. Just as I got myself upright, the reverse lights lit up. Engine roaring, the thing practically rammed me before bouncing to a stop. I dove in just as Walker floored it forward, whooping like a madman. I pulled myself into a sitting position on the floor, bracing against the van’s lurches. Willy laughed. “Bodine’s right. We really shouldn’t let him dr-“
Walker slammed on the brakes, and an instant later there was a weird metallic noise, like a heavy-gauge guitar string snapping. Tempered glass crunched and the van jerked to a halt, springs creaking. The first thing I noticed was that the roof of the van was gone above the windowsills. Just gone, sure as if it had been sanded off. The second was Willy’s head, which tumbled lazily through the air before thudding still-helmeted into my lap. I stared at it in frozen shock for a second as it leaked blood onto my legs, then frantically knocked it away. Then I myself had to scramble aside on my ass before his armored body flopped onto me. My mind was blank, too stunned to even curse.
I clapped gauntleted hands to my helmet. Not quite as good as slapping myself, but the noise still drove a tiny bit of sense back into me. Time to take stock. Van was stopped. Willy was dead for sure. Xiomara and Bodine were down and bloody. No idea how hurt they were. And Walker-“
“Fuck, fuck, kingsdamn motherfuckin’ fuck!” He popped up from the footwell and stared out where the windshield used to be. He froze, face draining even paler than it already was. “We’re dead.”
I’d never heard that kind of deathly-cold, resigned voice from him, and it woke me the rest of the way up. Doing my best to ignore what was left of Willy- time enough to freak out later, a crazy-calm thought spooled through my mind- and clambered up behind Walker.
“W-what is it? What happened?” I followed his gaze out to the lone figure standing in the middle of the street in front of us. It was tall, spare, dressed in all black but for a white mask. I didn’t see a gun or blade, but the fingers on one hand twitched back and forth. There was something there, a blur or flicker that the Zamok couldn’t focus on.
“We’re dead,” Walker repeated, still incongruously calm.
“Why? C’mon, Walker-“
“That there’s the Winnower.” The capital letter thudded into place like a coffin lid. “A menschenjaeger.”