"The PADW project involves the varying characteristics from every part of the world. The battle-hardened, the pampered incompetent, the knowledgeable recluse, etc. The one most interesting is the gifted misused." -Thomas Malkin
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Detroit, Michigan
United States
Detroit can be a dangerous place. With a violent crime rate of twenty-five hundred per one hundred thousand residents, some might be convinced. But the city had rallied itself in the outer districts when investors pooled their resources together in wordless acquiescence. Condos and apartment complexes were built and specifically priced with a family mindset. Higher-end hotels towered over construction sites that would soon be replaced by public pools and clubs. People would eventually use the word "safe" without trepidation.
Best of all, the new taverns were designed with an old-fashioned sense -- not the overly sterile feel and drab, bare walls like other establishments.
This choice sat well with former undercover agent Terrance Prest. He was pleasantly surprised when Emily Tanner's contact had decided on a familiar bar in the outlying eastern district of the city as a meeting spot. It was a place where people kept to themselves and their own groups during the evening.
Terrance entered the bar and scanned over the individuals scattered about. It was filled with most of the regulars he was accustomed to. There were only a few patrons he didn't recognize, and even less looked as if they had just recently reached the legal drinking age. The tight booths along the walls were occupied by the typical blue-collar workers, while another group of gentleman wearing leather biker jackets sat at the high-top tables. No real cause for concern.
He sought out a booth that stood off to the left side near the bar with a clear view of the entire room, as well as the door and the single wood-framed window that dominated the front of the establishment. The seats provided an angle for him to observe activity on the other side of the L-shaped bar. It also lent him cover so that any other individuals trying to analyze him would have to make obvious movements. Terrance had an upper body that was built longer and leaner than the average individual, which made his observations all the more inconspicuous since he didn't have to strain himself.
He removed his baseball cap and ran a hand casually through his disheveled black hair as a pretty blonde waitress in a revealing white and black referee outfit approached him. He didn't recognize her from the other times he stopped in. She must've been a new hire.
She went beyond the typical greetings, commenting on his team of choice based on the Yankees symbol on his cap and exchanging a few jokes about it.
“Are there any others in your party?” she asked with genuine friendliness.
“Yeah, one more,” Terrance answered. “I'll take a beer, though. ”
The girl nodded. “Would you like it bottle or draft?”
“Draft would be great. Same for my friend.”
The girl left him to issue the order to the bartender.
At the same time, right on cue, another man entered the bar wearing a shirt with a violent, elaborate design for some gothic metal band that was foreign to Terrance. The man's mussed up, long hair seemed to get in the way of his eyes as he took in his surroundings, much the same as when Terrance entered. The man noticed him off in the corner booth and approached him with a brisk pace that wasn't quite fast enough to be perceived as out of the ordinary. He eased himself into the booth and observed the bar apprehensively.
“So, Emily sent you,” he said.
The man abruptly halted the start of the conversation as the nice waitress returned to their table and set a chilled mug down for each of them.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, gentleman?”
“Nah, we're good with the beer.”
The girl nodded and moved on to one of her other tables.
When she was well out of earshot Terrance answered the man, “Yeah, everything is well underway in Seattle. Rick got in and out without a hitch.”
The other man let out a relieved sigh. “Damn good. Now, all we have to do is wait a little while.” He took a deep gulp of his beer and downed nearly half the pint in one go. He shook his head as his brain protested against the drink's cold temperature.
Terrance followed suit and sat in silence for a time deep in his own thoughts.
They were both plenty aware of the PADW project that seized the attention of the world. People of all ages were creating accounts and dumping all kinds of money in order to watch a few hundred people participate in the beta test for a revolutionary virtual reality video game: Puzzle and Dragons World.
That's what it appeared as on the surface.
Normally, Terrance wouldn't even acknowledge such a thing. Watching people play around in a fantasy world held no appeal for him. But the overwhelming evidence from Emily Tanner and Rick Moore about the deceased Takamura's real ambitions demanded his involvement. If the virtual world of Pirugan really was more than just that, 'virtual,' then it could mean a drastic shift of power on Earth. It was bad enough that corporations wielded the sword in politics, while the government officials were reduced to the equivalent of stable boys.
Terrance had plenty of news to share, but one bit in particular made him hesitant.
He finally forced himself to break the silence, “Paul...Carmen is dead.”
The man named Paul didn't betray emotion, but it was obvious that the news hit him hard with the trembling of the mug in his hand. The shivers only lasted for a second though as his previous training kicked in to subconsciously mask his body language. The rough waves undulating the foam of his beer went flat.
He took another long drink before responding to this news, “How?”
“One bullet to the back of the head. Clean.”
“Someone he trusted, then.”
“Looks like it.”
“Sonuvabitch.”
Paul leaned back in his seat and drummed his fingers on the table. The cause of death was unexpected. They were all professionals at what they did. Well, except for Rick Moore. He was no soldier. His expertise was more enclosed – a computer nerd with a knack for coding and quiet hacking.
But a person would be hard-pressed to find anyone who could kill a hardened mercenary like Carmen. When a man of his experience has been to nearly every war-torn country across the Pacific over a number of decades, well, it was difficult to throw him into a scenario he hadn't seen before. With such a hardened life, one would practically need a full squad to take him down on his turf. But army intelligence wasn't needed if the enemy could get to the few people he trusted most. Men like Carmen also didn't extend trust so easily, so the candidates would've been small if he decided to divulge the identities of those in his confidence.
Sadly, for this particular case, Carmen had been a man of his word. If asked, he would keep those names secret.
“We've been off the grid for years,” Paul commented. “I should know. I was with Moore when he wiped everything. None of the files even had our names on them in the first place. We were ghosts and codenames. As far as the world was concerned, our organization didn't even exist. So how the hell did they find him?”
Terrance shrugged and went to take another drink but realized that his mug was already empty.
“I couldn't tell you,” he answered. “But whoever was after Takamura is after us now. The good news is, they don't know about everyone involved. If they did, Rick and Emily would probably be dead already. They are sitting right in enemy territory, after all.”
Paul nodded. “Seattle. Future Artificial Networking controls that whole city. Does Rick still think Thomas Malkin is behind this?"
Terrance shook his head. "Malkin is in the best position with his artificial intelligence. But it is possible that someone else within his company is pulling the strings."
"What about Alsheimer?" Paul asked.
"Not a chance. Rick is convinced that Alsheimer is a puppet unaware of the strings."
They both sat in a long, uncomfortable silence. The next few minutes passed quietly and was only interrupted as Terrance ordered another round when the waitress walked by. This second mug would just be for show to blend in with the atmosphere.
Paul sighed. "But shit. Carmen, huh. Don't think that will ever sink in all the way.”
A group of businessmen came in at some point and started causing a ruckus on the opposite side of the bar. The bikers cast some irritated glances in their direction and grumbled to themselves. Terrance noticed their waitress force a smile as one of the men wearing a fancy sports coat made a passing comment about her outfit. Something about the way the waitress looked at him sat right with Terrance. It was a look that said she wouldn't hesitate to punch him in the teeth if he got too touchy.
“This is all crazy,” Paul muttered as he feigned a sip of his second beer. “A universal code that creates entire worlds. The hell is up with that?”
Terrance sighed and continued to examine their surroundings as he answered, “Yeah, pretty absurd. I still find it hard to believe. We'll have to get more details from Rick when we retrieve the intel. He and Takamura were pretty close, apparently.”
The sound of glass shattering caught the pair's attention and they instinctively reached for the weapons holstered to their waists. Terrance's fingers brushed the grip of his Glock as he stared across the room. He relaxed when he saw their waitress apologizing to the bikers at the high-top tables and went to cleaning up the mug she had dropped.
Terrance pushed the topic in another direction as an interesting bit of information occurred to him. It was like the twitch of his instincts had jump-started his thought process. He kept an eye on the biker table. “So, you hear about these so-called Players?”
Paul shrugged. “Not much. Only that we have a few prospects who might be sympathetic to our cause. Everything that happens on Pirugan might indirectly affect us here eventually. I guess it depends on who gets to the code first. ”
Terrance shook his head. “That's not all. Get this. One of the Players is-”
He abruptly went mute as he noticed a black SUV pull up nearly out of sight across the street from the bar. It was only by sheer luck that he happened to be moving to rest his shoulder against the wall that he was able to see the vehicle. A second happenstance confirmed his sudden suspicions. A second SUV of similar make passed in front of the building and disappeared down the street as a parking space was taken by another car. A group of men in black sports jackets exited the first vehicle and examined the area. They began to make their way across the street towards the bar as the traffic thinned out.
Paul didn't need an explanation. The expression on Terrance's face was enough. He rose from his seat, assuming an air of calm and tossed a wad of bills on the table for the waitress before he made his way with Terrance to the back of the bar.
A few of the employees eyed them curiously as they made their way past the kitchen to the back door, but the two men seemed to exude a tense aura that forced them to keep their distance.
"You weren't followed?" Terrance asked as they moved down a narrow hallway.
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Paul feigned a hurt look. "Who do you think I am?"
"They may already know our faces."
"Guess we're about to find out."
Paul took point and eased the rear door open. He peered through the thin slit he made and observed two men in black turn the corner and enter the alley outside. He gazed upwards to the roof of the opposite building and didn't note any movement. It was difficult to tell if the same was true for the building they occupied from his angle, so he pulled a thin rectangular mirror from the small pouch attached to his waste. He moved it back and forth outside the door and found nothing but the dark sky in the reflection. There was still no guarantee that there wasn't anyone above or moving into position at that moment. They would have to move quickly.
Paul held up two fingers, motioned upwards with all fingers together and shook his head. If the other men made any move to their waists then they wouldn't hesitate to use lethal force. They couldn't be sure of who they were or of their intentions, but they had an idea. There was too much at stake. There was no such thing as coincidence.
They drew their pistols and screwed the suppressors hooked to their waists onto the muzzles.
Paul gave Terrance's Glock an admiring look. “That a gen-6?”
Terrance nodded. “Yeah.”
“I'm jealous.”
They kept the guns to the side out of view to feign a lack of hostility. Terrance motioned forward and they entered the alley. They put on a surprised expression at seeing the two men in black. The pair reached for the weapons at their waists instinctively. Paul and Terrance revealed their pistols and dropped the two men with three trained shots to the chest. They fell with a dull thud to the concrete. The only other sound was the soft thump of the pistols.
They didn't waste any time moving in the opposite direction. They made their way to an open, square culdesac littered with debris that concealed spray painted lines indicating it may have once been used as a basketball court for pickup games. Fortunately, there were many options for escape, one being an alley that was actually hidden by a stilted wall. The buildings hugged close together for the other exits.
Paul scanned the buildings while Terrance edged along the walls of the alley. They met no resistance and reached the end that opened up to another street.
“Just a block up,” Paul whispered.
He had decided to park his car a few blocks down from the bar to prepare for the exact situation they now found themselves in. It was a policy that had served him well when he worked with his old mercenary organization in New York. There was no point in placing a means of escape where the enemy would most likely find them.
Only a few pedestrians moved along the street. There was little to no congestion on the road, save for a few illegally parked cars that could potentially make it difficult to maneuver between the opposing lanes. This area of Detroit wasn't always the best place to go out for a stroll, especially in the evening.
To the left was Paul's car, an old silver Toyota Tundra situated in the nearest parallel parking spot with no cars blocking its front. However, next to the car, standing on the sidewalk, were two suspicious individuals in ragged clothes. The men inconspicuously rested hands on their hips and positioned themselves to keep one side out of sight as pedestrians passed by. Two more stood on the opposite sidewalk and pretended to be engaged in idle chatter as they scanned the street.
Paul swore under his breath. “Four of them out there,” he said.
“How the hell did they know where you parked?”
Paul shook his head. “No idea. Scanned my car and everything. No bugs or trackers. Nothing. I always check before I go out. And I wasn't followed," he added when he saw Terrance's questioning look.
It was true. Paul was probably the most paranoid out of all of them. Even moreso than Emily, and she had a concealed pocket EMP installed in her vehicle with triple-copper plating built over the important bits.
Terrance risked a glance past Paul so he could gauge the situation in the street. There was no view of the windows on the buildings to either side of them. He would have to rely on Paul to take care of the men on the nearest sidewalk while he cleared the windows.
He noted a black Hyundai Accent parked next to a steel newspaper box to the right side. If there was anyone in the buildings on their side of the street then he would at least have cover to his front and rear. The position also provided an angle with a decent shot to the other side of the road. If the windows were clear, then he could deal with the other two men across the street while Paul took cover behind his car.
There was no more chance at subtlety. The question was whether it would be done clean or turn into a sloppy ground war. Neither was really a strange occurrence in this city anyway. It just might be a little louder than the mobsters and some ruffians were used to.
Terrance relayed his plan to Paul who nodded his assent. They agreed that waiting too long would not be in their best interest. When the men inside the bar returned empty-handed, they would know something was up. Then they would likely discover the bodies in the alley and advance in their direction.
The slightest twitch from the men across the street would be acceptable as an opening to strike.
They received a better opportunity than they could have hoped for. A woman walking down the opposite sidewalk approached one of the men and seemed to inquire about something. One of the men on the nearest sidewalk lifted the hand holding his side in order to itch his nose.
Paul rushed out of the alley with his pistol already aimed and embedded three bullets into the man slightly more prepared than his partner, who was now making a poor attempt at reaching for his weapon. That split second it took to extend his arm away from his face was more than enough for Paul to fire two more shots – one that drove into the second man's shoulder and another that pierced his forehead. The man's head whipped back, and he collapsed to the sidewalk.
The two men across the street saw their partners fall and trained their weapons on Paul's position, but he was already on the move. He let off a few shots to force them to cover so Terrance could check the two buildings behind them.
A quick scan of the buildings was more than enough for Terrance's trained eyes, and he lowered himself into a crouch as he made his way to cover. The disoriented assailants managed to fire a few rounds, but the closest bullet glanced off the trunk of a small car which was at least a good five feet away.
Amateurs.
Terrance spared a glance over to Paul who was now pulling out a handheld device from his back pocket that looked like some sort of cellphone. He ran the scanner over the length of the car and nodded with satisfaction as he opened the passenger side door. A single bullet sailed over his head. He was unfazed as he pulled himself into the driver's seat.
Terrance let loose the rest of his magazine and made a beeline for the car. His two assailants removed themselves from cover seconds too late as Terrance jumped into the passenger seat. The car was already on the move. A couple of stray shots dug into the side of the car but none penetrated.
They were about to relax themselves when a pair of familiar black SUVs turned around a corner at the intersection behind them.
“Sonuvabitch,” Paul grumbled. He pointed to Terrance's seat. “Underneath. Right at your feet.”
Terrance complied and found what looked like a large laptop battery under the seat, but he knew what it was at first glance: a Folding Machine Gun (FMG), accompanied with five magazines. He unfolded the machine gun, locked it securely in weapon phase and rested the stock against his shoulder as he inserted the first magazine. He stared at the weapon with a puzzled look as he felt the slight change in weight that seemed slightly heavier than he was accustomed to.
“How many-” Terrance was interrupted as Paul jerked the wheel to the left and clipped the back end of a Corvette. He was thankful that the other car had pulled up illegally on the crosswalk at the red light. It gave them just enough room to slip past the other car that was pulling forward. Paul made a hard right as the front wheels bounced them up briefly from the curb before they turned back onto the street to avoid the vehicles that attempted to block them.
“Thirty-five rounds, nine-millimeters,” Paul said, anticipating the question.
Judging from the design, foldable stock and magazine, Terrance could ascertain that the weapon was a new class of FMG: the FMG 12. The weapon had a bit of extra recoil due to the folded parts, but it was versatile. It could even be disguised better as a portable laptop battery than the previous three classes of FMG. It was not the first time that Terrance wondered how Paul was able to get ahold of such high-tech weaponry (and how the man had managed to sneak it on his flight from New York). It seemed he still had his connections outside of the professional mercenary business after all these years.
“We're going to get a lot of people killed,” Terrance commented. “The city's underbelly will start thinking the neighboring mobs are intruding on territory.”
“This part of the city has already gone to shit,” Paul answered. “All it takes is a stabbing to start a war here.”
Terrance gritted his teeth and glanced at the rearview mirror. He noticed the two other vehicles that pursued them had managed to collect themselves. He rolled down the window and propped himself. It was inevitable that they would eventually be overtaken. Even though the evening neared midnight, it was still a major city, and much of the populace was out and about despite the inevitable dangers. He figured people living in such a place were accustomed to it.
The black SUVs separated, one taking to the lane beside them and the other maintaining position to the rear.
“Scare them a bit!” Paul growled. He turned towards the middle lane to give Terrance a clear shot at the vehicle on the far side.
Terrance opted to switch the FMG to full-auto. He aimed the weapon towards the driver's window first. A cluster of white cracks bloomed on the tinted windows. Terrance frowned at the bullet-proof glass.
Fine, have it your way, he thought.
He lowered his aim to the bottom half of the vehicle near the tires and pulled the trigger in two successive bursts to conserve the precious ammo and maintain accuracy. His marksmanship was genuine and a loud, satisfying pop like a miniature explosion reached his ears as one of the front tires of the SUV choked and caused the front end to sag to the left awkwardly. The driver panicked and jerked the wheel roughly to send the car straight into a streetlamp. The front hood caved inward and the car practically wrapped itself around the pole in a jaw of devastated metal.
“That's some nice shooting,” Paul commented. He took a left at the next intersection and squeezed between two cars. He adroitly pulled across the lane in the opposite direction, and they were back on the correct side of the road. Miraculously, the driver of the SUV managed to mimic this move and increased in speed as he gained confidence.
Terrance was about to speak when the rear window shattered and the rattle of bullets echoed off the skyscrapers. He steeled himself and rested the machine gun on the head of his seat and pumped out the rest of the rounds in his magazine. He ducked down as his pursuers returned fire and he reloaded the gun.
The engine of the Toyota roared as Paul stomped his foot on the accelerator. The sudden increase in speed jolted Terrance. He was about to protest when he noticed the light ahead had just turned to a warning yellow. He realized they were attempting to beat the light just as it turned red. The perpendicular traffic to the intersection might be able to keep their enemies from passing.
As they neared the light, Paul let out a cry of dismay as an all too familiar vehicle turned a corner two intersections ahead and sped towards them. Terrance swallowed heavily when flashing red and blue lights appeared over the front windshield.
Cops? No...wait...
“Dammit! How many of these fu-” Terrance froze as he saw a black blur out of the corner of his eye. It consumed all of the driver side window. Everything seemed to enter slow motion as it drew closer.
Before Terrance could collect himself, the Toyota suddenly launched to the right and slid across the cement. A sharp pain impacted the side of his head and he could hear the muffled but unmistakable scraping of metal as the bare tires of their car screamed in retaliation to the force. One of the rims dislodged and the vehicle lurched even further to the side before it finally came to rest with the driver side door crumpled like aluminum foil.
Everything was a blur. Terrance could make out various shapes and colors, but what they were associated with eluded him. The pain in the side of his head intensified as he attempted to regulate his situation. As his vision began to clear he forced his stiff neck to turn.
Terrance saw Paul with his head resting limp on his chest with eyes closed. Blood soaked through his shirt and was clearly discernible with its dark color. His left arm was trapped by the door that clamped around the arm and bit deep into his flesh. The mortal wound was a piece of metal that impaled his throat, angled inward from the collision with the other vehicle.
Paul suppressed the budding grief over his friend's death and searched desperately for the machine gun. There was no time to mourn.
He found the weapon faster than he expected. It was right on the floor in front of him. He reached for it with his one working arm. He hooked a finger on the trigger guard and attempted to pull it closer.
Just before he could grab the weapon in a firm grip, the passenger side door swung open and a pair of hands seized him and flung him out onto the street. Terrance gasped as the air left his lungs and the pain in his head intensified with the impact. Sheer will allowed him to keep the weapon in his loose fingers. This resistance was brief as a heavy boot stomped on his hand and kicked the weapon out of reach. He clenched his teeth in pain as someone pushed his arms aside to remove the pistol from its holster. Everything was blurry again. It felt like his brain was bouncing around in his skull. The lights lining the street were pulsing stars.
Terrance blinked for several pained seconds to clear his vision. He managed to make out a few faces.
The voice of an irritated man was audible somewhere off to the side. Terrance allowed his neck to release the support on his head so he could make a sideways glance towards the direction of the voice.
“Sloppy,” the voice said simply. He clicked his tongue with dissatisfaction.
Another voice, “Sorry sir, we didn't expect-”
“I don't want to hear it. You didn't expect them to notice you? Driving up in your black cars with tinted windows and wearing your matching sports coats. Not suspicious at all. Good work, you fucking genius.”
The first man, who was obviously in charge and with his sarcastic tone, made the other man visibly nervous.
Terrance could feel himself teetering on the edge of consciousness, but he was still able to collect his thoughts and interpret his position. If they wanted him dead, they would have finished him off already. They were in the middle of a busy street in Detroit with plenty of pedestrians watching. Granted, they might not have been the most savory people, and it was mob territory, but it still had to account for something. They wanted him alive, for now. As long as he could still draw breath there was time to be salvaged. It was the way he was trained to think. No matter how hopeless the situation, there was still something that could arrange a way out. He determined to bide his time until then and collect whatever information he could until the opportunity presented itself. Hopefully, Emily Tanner and her team would act quickly on his absence and assess the situation.
Even breaths, he thought desperately. Count slowly. Breathe.
The frustrated man spoke again, “I also distinctly remember in the briefing that we needed them both alive. That guy's dead, and this one ain't looking so hot. You better hope he's the one who knows about Takamura's intel. Shit, now I have to clean this up and deal with the authorities.”
There it was. Confirmation.
“Sorry, sir,” the other man's reply was barely even a croak.
“Just take him to the checkpoint. As long as you drive between the lines, you won't have problems. Can you handle that?”
“Yes, sir.”
The leader laughed humorlessly, “Wonderful! You have instilled so much confidence.”
A pair of brown loafers planted themselves in front of Terrance's eyes and a figure crouched in front of him. The man examined Terrance before clicking his tongue again with distaste. He stepped over him as the sound of sirens echoed in the distance.
Terrance's body refused to move and protested against his efforts. He wanted to at least see the man's face, but he found that even the simple tilt of his head was becoming a daunting task. His body screamed as a hand hooked underneath each of his armpits and dragged him to one of the black SUVs waiting in the middle of the street.