We hadn’t left the dock for more than five minutes before I was forced to break my orders. The Indian man, who clearly didn’t get the same orders that I did, walked up to me at the bow of the ship, where I was looking out over the water. He placed his arms on the railing, mask off, staring at the gunky liquid we were cutting through like a snow plow.
He was brazenly disregarding his face mask—and I was incredibly jealous. I had only been on the boat ten minutes, and I was sweating like a dog, fogging up the full-face mask in the summer heat. If it weren’t overcast, I would’ve been boiling.
“I hear you’re the best,” he said.
I wanted to reply, I hear you’re trouble, but I knew my orders: Don’t fuck with him. So I said:
“If I was, I wouldn’t be on this ship.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. From what I’ve heard, there was an east-side attack, too. Killed a bunch of Micros in Redtown, and the place’s on lockdown. Now, Gov’ner Hensley wants results. So… here we are.”
I smiled bitterly. I wanted Microsoft to burn after what it did to me and my sister—something you’ll hear about soon enough—but hearing that it got raided didn’t bring me any joy. Two wrongs don’t make a right—even if a second wrong is necessary. And in those rare moments where a wrong is right, it never feels good—no matter how deserving it might be.
“So what?” I asked. “Are you the best?”
“Hmmm,” he looked around, lower lip stuck out as he shrugged. “No. But I’m the most rounded, I think.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I executed my cocktail strategy, “Makes sense.”
“What makes sense?”
“Your skill. I heard you’re important, so I was ordered not to fuck with you. You need mad skill to get respect from an officer.” That was my subtle way of telling him that I shouldn’t talk to him.
“That guy?” He turned back toward shore to look at Lieutenant Rudd on the docks. “Hand that man two months of Prozac and a shrink and see if he doesn’t wisen up about us.”
I shrugged. “Probably true.”
“It is.” He looked toward the Beta colossus’s floating corpse. It was still ten minutes out. “So?”
“So what?”
He lifted his shotgun and pumped it with a double click as the shell entered the chamber. “You wanna make a bet?”
My blood ran cold, and my body shivered at the term bet.
“Bet about what?” I asked.
He smiled and looked at the water. “I’ll bet you a Benjamin that I can dome more of these than you can.”
My skin crawled at the thought of being offered a bet I could possibly win. There was only one problem: I wasn’t sure that the money I hid last night was still there. I had a tracker embedded in my chest so the military knew where I was when I was there and for how long. That’s why I threw the money into a bush without walking or looking back on the way to Pioneer Square, praying it’d be there. Otherwise, I was broke, had half my pay, and would literally starve if lunch and dinner weren’t free.
“I’m broke,” I said hoarsely.
“You can pay me back,” he said.
“I got my pay slash—“
“There’s not a time limit. To be honest, I don’t even care about the money. Bets just have no meaning if there’s nothin’ tangible on the line.”
I couldn’t agree more.
“Besides…” he grinned. “It’s not a real bet if you’re bound to lose.”
My ego took a hit, and I grabbed my shotgun. “Didn’t you say I was the best?”
He smiled. “Didn’t you say you weren’t?”
I almost called his bluff right there, but the moment I thought about it, the more my instincts screamed for me not to. I thought I was halfway decent until I watched someone one-shot a Beta. Then, Kensey (I still refused to provide her due respect at that point) handed me my ass on a silver platter later that night. Both experiences taught me that there were people far beyond my skill level—and did things I didn’t understand. But here’s the thing—
—I was a low-key gambling addict.
It’s an ugly thing to admit, but it’s true. I’d like to say that it’s not “gambling” because I play poker, and if poker was “gambling,” the same twenty people wouldn’t have made it to the top of the World Series of Poker every single year. But the thing is, addiction’s not based on how “addictive” the drug you take is—it’s how bad it affects your life, and I’ve taken enough beatings and made enough bad decisions to know it was an addiction. I also didn’t need a psychiatrist to validate it. My father was an alcoholic, and my mother was a workaholic before—and after—the world went to shit. I’m from a family of addicts, so I knew one when I saw one, and at that point in my life, when I looked into the mirror, I saw a full-blown fiend. So, against my better judgment, I convinced myself that betting was the only way to not piss the Indian man off and that I actually had a chance because I killed a crippled stalk with a cone on its head. That’s why I said:
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a big deal, and I’m a problem child, so I was ordered not to talk to you,” I said. “But if you were to stand a couple harpoons down and ignore me, I suppose there’d be no problem counting how many we shot. Don’t you agree?”
“Hoh?” The corners of his lips curved up. “I suppose there wouldn’t be.”
“Assuming, of course,” I added, “that you won’t get pissed if I just happen to shoot more than you. ‘Cause not pissin’ you off was 100% of the reason I was told not to talk to you—and I’m known for pissin’ people off.”
“Is that so? Well, that makes two of us.” He turned to me. “But don’t worry. If I lose, the only person I’ll be pissed at is myself.”
I nodded with anxious butterflies fluttering in my stomach—thrill pulsing through my veins. “What if there’s not enough maws?” I asked. “We’re ten feet off the water. Even when it rocks, there’s not many maws that’ll jump.”
“That’s normally true. But there’s a swarm of jackals by the Beta. There’ll be enough—so get that pistol ready, ‘cause I don’t want to hear you bitch about reload speed.”
That’s when I knew I was fucked. We were probably seven minutes out, and he was talking about specific maws—something that was way above the “if it moves, kill it” clearance that I was at.
“What’s a jackal?” I asked as he walked away.
“Ig~nor~ing~you,” he sang, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder as he moved a few harpoons down, putting one between us port side (the fancy name for the left side of the ship).
Prick.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“At least tell me your name!” I yelled.
He turned back with a cheeky grin. “Name’s Akash.”
2
I’m not sure what was more unfortunate—making a bet with Akash Singh without knowing who he was or being sent to fight a swarm of Flying Jackals. But if I had to guess, I’d say it was betting Akash because sometimes the best memories hurt the worst when you look back on them.
We were about three miles out from the Beta’s corpse when we could smell it. Aether preserved rifters from rotting, as it killed bacteria and saprobe fungi, so, with rare exceptions at that point, there was nothing that could get rid of rifters but enzymes and other rifters. So it wasn’t the rot or decay that smelled—it was just the smell of a 1,000-ton (yeah, 1,000 tons, 2.2 million pounds—five to ten times the size of a blue fucking whale) aquatic creature getting eaten and releasing its digestive organs. It was pungent.
“You ready?” I asked a greenhorn on the harpoon. She was Hispanic, sporting healthy skin and pearly white teeth, but had nothing but fear and depression in her eyes. She was likely from a good family a few months ago and still hadn’t adapted to life without rights—
—some people never do.
“I-I think so,” she said, gripping the handles of the blue explosive-tip harpoon cannon. “B-But nothing’s moving slower.”
“That’s normal,” I said. “I think it activates when things move fast or you concentrate. Here, look at the Beta and try to see further.”
She nodded and looked over. When she looked, her face paled, and she started trembling. “W-W-What the fuck is that?”
Her tone wrapped my arms with gooseflesh, and I turned to the Beta. Even before I concentrated, I could see it—the water around the massive creature was shimmering—boiling—as black dots flung everywhere. Vision sharpening with the Sena in my veins, I could see fish the size of northern pikes (which were fish about 4 feet in length) jumping over ten feet over the water like piranhas, grabbing onto the Beta’s bluish skin like leeches and then flopping back and forth until they ripped a chunk out of it.
“I… don’t know,” I said.
“Jackals!” Akash said merrily.
I was not amused. I turned to the captain, who was also a Sickle (since they wouldn’t put a Breather in charge). “We need to turn back!”
The captain looked down at me and hit the comm in the control room. “What?” he said over the speakers.
“We gotta Gamma!” I yelled. The other twenty-something Sickles panicked, crying and rushing around. “We gotta turn around.”
“Negative,” the captain yelled. “We’ve got no sonar indicating Gammas.”
“Of coooooourse it’s not a Gamma,” Akash said with this strange, mocking sarcasm. “Just look at ‘em. They’re tiny!”
“Yeah, tiny like an aspen tree!” I yelled.
Akash furrowed his brow. “What the hell’s an aspen got to do with this?”
“It’s all one tree!” I said. He sent me a quizzical glance, and I scoffed. “Look—when you see an aspen grove, it’s a single organism. And THAT—“ I pointed at the Beta. “Isn’t a single fucking fish. That’s a thousand Zetas attacking as one!”
Akash scratched the back of his head a few times before saying, “Huh. So that’s why they’re a Gamma.”
“You knew?”
“Well, yeah,” he shrugged. “That’s why they sent a Gamma hunter to kill it.”
An icy chill crawled down my spine as my and Akash’s partners panicked and started crying. “Then why the hell are we here?” I asked.
“I dunno. To bitch and complain? Shoot the small stuff? Because you’re unlucky? Hell, it might be so I have someone to show off to. But….” He shrugged that aggravating shrug. “It’s probably just because I needed a ride.”
“This is ridiculous,” I said.
“Ah, caaaaaaaalm down, guy. I got shit to do after this. So I don’t know what you’re gonna do, but I’m finishin’ early. If you can’t hang with that, you can just sleep.” Akash’s confidence was magnetic—absolute. There was no fear in his eyes as if he were a sacrifice like the rest of us. This looked like just another day on the job, like a skydiving instructor who’s made a hundred jumps and has lost the thrill of danger. Yet his eyes were primal and excited and thrilled, looking at me as if to challenge me, calling out—begging me to pick up that shotgun and join him. It was infectious, captivating, and raw. It drew me in like a moth to a flame. “Just know,” he grinned, nudging his head at the shotgun. “I’m takin’ that Benjamin.”
I picked up my shotgun and laughed bluntly, shaking my head. “He’s not turnin’ back, anyway.”
“That’s the spirit!”
My partner started crying, and Akash looked at her and then at the captain. “Everyone inside!” he yelled. “If you’re not this guy, you ain’t doin’ shit today!”
“What was that?” the captain asked. “We can’t—“
“This is an order from the Beta Extermination Unit,” Akash said. “Radio it in.”
The captain did. Then he complied, ordering everyone into the ship, leaving only me and Akash on the deck.
Suddenly, Akash’s eyes dilated, and he grinned.
“What?” I asked. I looked over the railing. We had just entered crimson, murky waters, and multi-colored aether fumed off the Beta’s blood like miasma. I looked at it, and my mind turned rabid.
“Come on,” Akash said with a wide grin. “Take it off.” He breathed deeply with his mask off, filling his lungs with the unfiltered smell of salt water and dead fish. “’Cause there ain’t no way you’re beatin’ me with it on.”
“And if water gets on me?”
Akash grinned. “It’s gonna get you hiiiiiigh. But it’s not gonna do shit past that. It’ll core a Breather but to you? It might as well be a salt bath.”
If he was actually wearing a mask instead of reveling in the smell of the aether, I would’ve said fuck you, but I didn’t. Instead, I took off my mask.
“That’s the spirit,” Akash said, taking ten paces to my right. Then, he lifted his shotgun. “Let’s get this party started.”
Suddenly, green and blue and purple aether—Sena and Aegis and Cela—kicked up in wisps around the water, moving toward his chest. He breathed it in like I did in Cutters Crabhouse, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. With the amount he inhaled, I was certain that time would nearly stop, and his skin would be hard as steel.
“I’ll keep it to the guns!” Akash yelled as the sound of flopping fish and splashing water intensified, drowning out the noise around us. “Now prepare yourself, ‘cause—“
A wall of fish suddenly shot at Akash as if they were following the aether he pulled into his chest. Akash responded with a single shot that hit two with its spread and used the butt of his shotgun to smash a third. A fourth hit his chest and flopped to the deck, where Akash stomped it with surreal force, causing its body to explode.
“Better hurry~up!” he yelled. “They’re gonna start comin’ after you!”
My mind sped up, and I turned. There were hundreds of these fish flying up the side of the ship, mindless but snapping. It was clear why they were called flying jackals—they had horns like ears and jaws connected to snouts. They were horrifying creatures. I lifted my shotgun and pumped it, watching one moving in ultra-slow motion. Then I shot and reloaded and aimed again.
The shots became rhythmic as I kept going, releasing the classic sound only shotguns make. Boom! Che-chink! Boom! Che-chink. Boom!
I stopped counting Akash’s kills, and the thought of betting was far from my mind. I found a new addiction: the thrill and danger of killing stronger creatures, like a hunter stalking prey in the times of the gods. It sounds disturbing, sure, and my enemies will jump up and quote this saying, “Kei Nakamura confesses! Says, ‘I found a new addiction: the thrill and danger of killing.” But I don’t care. You need to understand—gambling isn’t about money. It’s about the high, the thrill, and the stakes—and being right there made me feel just as alive as when I fought that stalk and jumped off a two-story parking garage like it was nothing.
Boom! Che-chink! Boom! Che-chink! Boom!
More jackals came and went, exploding and tossing back toward the water with clouds of red mist. I got two more booms before I heard a Click! Click!
Out of ammo.
Without jumping back to load, I crouched and slid the shotgun on the deck floor, unclipping my Beretta M9 and pulling it out. My hands had it locked in a double grip before I even made it up. Then I returned to the surreal landscape of three dozen flying fish, floating in slow motion like a Dali painting.
I put my finger on the trigger—
—and started firing.
Each had a core, and I shot them mercilessly, pumping out shot after shot after shot until I hit fifteen, and the gun went—Click! Then I ejected the magazine and let it drop into my left hand, threw it in my pocket, pulled out my spare, and loaded it. Then I kept firing.
Akash let out a protracted whistle that sounded like a siren under my slowed hearing, but I didn’t look at him. I just kept blasting away until the clip was empty.
A strange and sharp sensation suddenly assaulted my mind, as if there was an alarm that suddenly went off, and I looked to the side, world speeding up as Akash pointed at the door. I released the Sena partially to listen.
“Go inside!” Akash yelled.
“No!” I yelled back. I didn’t want to lose.
“No, get the guns!”
“What?”
“Shotguns!”
“Oh!”
I rushed into the door, where six people were looking out the window. They panicked and screamed, and two tried to keep the door shut, afraid of the maws. But my strength was off the charts. I pulled so hard that it broke the latch and made the men holding it fly forward.
“Pistols!” I yelled. “Go!” They didn’t move. “Now!” They moved.
Next thing I knew, I was shoving a Beretta in my holster, one in the back of my pants, almost put one in my front, but I like my testicles, and then put two into my hands. “Get the shotguns ready!”
They did.
I rushed back and found Akash without ammo, hitting the things with the butt of his shotgun like a Jedi deflecting lasers at high speed. Most of them flew back into the water, but a few hit the deck, and one hit his arm. It bit him—but it couldn’t break his skin. Akash didn’t even bother with it, continuing his assault until the fish flopped off.
“Hurry the fuck up!” Akash yelled.
I rushed forward, but before I reached him, a lethal wall of Jackals jumped at us simultaneously. There were so many that I couldn’t see anything beyond them, and they were all snapping and snarling and yapping their strange and terrifying laugh as they flooded us.
My world slowed even further—and then that feeling of my head splitting hit me like a brick, telling me to ease up with the Sena. Yet I couldn’t. I lifted my gun. We were about to die. I was certain of it. And despite the world being slow, I wasn’t certain that I could shoot enough of them to prevent getting eaten.
That’s when Akash cracked—and the moment I was introduced to kinetics.