Not until he hears a voice he never thought he’d hear again. Not until he feels a change in the air, the nearly imperceptible molecular rifts caused by moving bodies. Not until his system’s warning alarms come back to life, sending a jolt of emergency energy through his body.
He moves with superhuman speed, twisting to the side. A gunshot sounds, exploding in his ears, but he forces himself to his feet and charges toward the noise, swinging his fists with reckless abandon. He’s already fading, fading, fading, the last of his emergency reserves spent, and he knows this is the end, the end, the end…
Until he sees a light in his head. His eyes are still closed, but he can see a question, floating in his mind, backlit by white light, the letters bold and black.
Okay to run video?
There’s a holo in his head. An upgrade. His contact came through for him, not only getting someone to repair his system, but also improving it, building a holo-screen into the very fabric of his mind. And although he’s too weak to move, he instinctively knows he has just enough energy left to reply. So he does.
Yes.
Just before he drifts away, he smiles.
Come to me.
~~~
It all happens so fast, like a nightmare tearing into a good dream. The Destroyer is conscious again, diving off the table, and Destiny’s shot goes wide, ripping chunks out of the wall. And then he’s coming at her, impossibly fast, hammering her arm, knocking the gun from her grip. It clatters across the floor, the sound echoing raucously.
Her heart hammering in her chest, Destiny throws her arms up to protect herself from his next blow. To her surprise, it never comes. His arm drops and he slumps to the floor, motionless once more. And for some psychotic reason that Destiny may never understand, the damn cyborg is smiling.
“Freak,” she mutters, letting out a deep sigh of relief. She draws her knife and steels herself, preparing to stab the second person of the day, which equals the total for her life.
“Don’t freaking move,” a voice says. She freezes at the command, only allowing her head to turn slightly. The doctor has the gun pointed at her head. Nearby, Michael Kelly is on one knee, looking at her helplessly. To her relief, the Destroyer remains on the floor, motionless. Unconscious again?
“You won’t do it,” she says. “You’re not a killer.”
“I’m warming up,” the guy says. Blood is soaking through the makeshift bandage, and his entire rumpled appearance makes him look frantic.
“You’re scared,” Michael wheezes.
“Shut your mouth!”
“Whatever it is—whoever it is—we can protect you if you help us.”
Destiny is so close to finishing off the Destroyer. One quick thrust and it’ll be over. Will he be able to shoot fast enough to stop her? Would he shoot at all? From the deranged look on his face, she suspects he might.
“No one can protect me. Not if I fail the Destroyer.”
“Why not? Whose orders are you here on?” Michael asks, dropping to both knees now, unable to sustain himself.
The doctor growls out his response.
“The President of the Reorganized United States of America.”
~~~
Article from the Saint Louis Times:
Breaking News: Lifer Leader Caught! City Lockdown Lifted!
The Department of Population Control announced early this morning that the number two Most Wanted criminal in the RUSA has been caught and terminated. Known simply by the alias Jarrod, the leader of the terrorist organization, the Lifers, was apprehended while attempting to place explosives inside one of the major Tubes in Saint Louis. A shootout ensued, but a cross-department team of Hunters and Crows eventually terminated Jarrod, while only sustaining a minimum of injuries.
The mysterious terrorist’s body was fingerprinted and scanned, but due to the convoluted tangle of false names and biographical information set up to disguise his true origins, Pop Con analysts have so far been unable to identify him. According to sources close to the situation, an anonymous tip led to the termination, although it’s suspected it was a jaded former member of the Lifers. President Ford had this to say:
“I want to personally congratulate Charles Boggs and his extraordinary men and women for eliminating a threat that has long plagued our great country’s capital city. We can all rest easier because of your efforts. Additionally, the country owes a great debt of gratitude to the informant, whoever he or she may be. I encourage him or her to come forward with the knowledge that any previous crimes will be forgiven. Thank you.”
In a conversation with one of our reporters, Charles Boggs was confident that the threat level has been substantially reduced, allowing for the citywide lockdown to be lifted. “For their leader to take such a massive risk and show his face in the city, it’s clear to us that the Lifers have run out of resources, both human and financial. We fully expect the Lifer movement to fizzle out on its own as remaining suspected members are rounded up and terminated.”
A secondary impact of the well-timed news is that what has been called “The Concert of the Century” will NOT be cancelled, contrary to rumors. In fact, the president himself urged ticketholders to “Have fun, be safe, and celebrate everything we have.” The members of Sonic Boom were not available for comment, but their manager assured us that they are excited for the event and preparing to put on an epic show.
Have a comment on this article? Speak them into your holo-screen now. NOTE: All comments are subject to government screening. Those comments deemed to be inappropriate or treasonous in nature will be removed immediately and appropriate punishment issued.
Comments:
Lifer131: Comment removed and disciplinary action taken.
SarahBanks44: YES! I’ve been waiting for this concert for MONTHS!
PawnHee: Congrats to Charles Boggs. He might be just the man this city has been looking for.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Ha!” Jarrod says, raising his fist in victory. The Lifer leader’s excitement is contagious, and Geoffrey finds himself smiling a mile wide. “I knew their arrogance would be their downfall.”
“So the mission is still on?” Geoffrey asks, his fingernails biting into his palm in anticipation.
Jarrod’s smile fades slightly, and he puts his arm around Geoffrey’s shoulder. “If you want it to be, it is.”
“More than ever,” Geoffrey says, thinking of his sister, thinking of Gonzo.
“You are a true patriot,” Jarrod says, and the compliment fills him with warmth from head to toe. The leader stands up and thumps Geoffrey on the back. “Now go, tomorrow’s a big day and you should spend today with your friends. Get to bed early.”
“Thank you. I will.” Geoffrey makes for the exit, but then turns back. “Sir, who was the man they terminated?”
“One of ours,” Jarrod says. “A lookalike. A true soldier for the cause, like you.”
Geoffrey nods, feeling a strange connection to the dead man he’s never met. In less than two days, Jarrod will be talking about him like that.
The thought makes him smile with satisfaction.
~~~
“Something’s fishy,” Benson says.
“Don’t look a gift horse, and all of that jazz,” Harrison says, nuzzling his chin against Lola’s head.
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts. We were worried about what Jarrod might do to Check and the others, and now he’s dead. I’d say that’s a good thing.”
“Plus the concert is back on,” Simon points out. “Which means our plans are back on. I’d say the whole thing is lucky.”
“That’s the problem,” Benson says, unwilling to let it go. Ever since he read the news story, a feeling has been working its way into the back of his mind, setting up shop, consuming his every thought. “Jarrod isn’t stupid and we’re not that lucky.”
“I’m lucky,” Janice says, but everyone ignores her.
“I agree with Benson,” Minda says, finally chiming in.
>
“Thank you,” Benson says.
“But that doesn’t mean I think it changes anything. Regardless of whether Jarrod is dead or not, the city is no longer locked down, and the concert is going forward as scheduled. Which means we’ll be there. This is our moment, the culmination of years of hard work and preparation.”
“The Lifers are planning something for the same night,” Benson says. “I know it. Gonzo tried to stop them, or maybe just delay them, and it got him killed.”
“You’re probably right,” Minda says. “But any chaos they manage to bring can only help us.”
“Unless it kills us,” Benson mutters.
Harrison slaps him on the back. “That’s the spirit.” Lola takes it as a signal that they’re playing, and leaps into Benson’s lap, attempting to lick his face. Benson scratches under her chin and holds her away, narrowly avoiding getting drenched in fake doggy drool.
Their attention is drawn to the table as Minda’s holo vibrates against it. “Bzzzz,” Janice says.
“What now?” Minda says to herself, snatching up the device and accepting the alert. A male reporter with an English accent appears holographically before them, delivering the breaking news with an impressive degree of professionalism under the circumstances:
“Yet another exclusive video has been received from the ex-Pop Con cyborg known as the Destroyer. As before, we advise discretion for our younger viewers, as some of the images are quite graphic.”
The holo-news pauses on a black screen for a moment, as if giving mothers and fathers time to cover their children’s eyes. Lola jumps to the floor and barks at the green lines that course through the air. The video begins with a burst of static and a voice. “Michael Kelly is alive,” the metal-tinged voice says.
Beside him, Benson sees his brother’s hands tighten into fists, his knuckles white. His lips press together tightly.
The video shows the Destroyer’s face in extreme close up, the horrendous cavity of his destroyed eye like the site of a bomb blast, black and red and scabbed, white pus trickling from the direct center.
With a twist, the camera swirls away from the Destroyer and pans to another figure, slumped over, strapped to a chair. The face is hidden, but Benson already knows who it is—would know even without the Destroyer announcing it at the beginning of the video.
Michael Kelly raises his head, opens his eyes, and looks directly into the camera. “Benson, Harrison, Janice, if you are out there…” He pauses, his lips clamped together, a bubble of spit forming in the corner. His eyes are bloodshot, his jaw blanketed by a thick growth of hair, his strong bare chest pale and streaked with red lines cut by the edges of the ropes.
“God,” Benson says, his stomach feeling terribly empty. Nausea rises inside him.
“Say the rest,” the Destroyer chides.
“If you are out there,” Michael repeats, his eyes seeming to bore directly into Benson’s. “Stay the hell away! Whatever you do, stay the hell—”
The video bounces, blurring and shaking, and there’s a clattering sound as it falls to the ground, resting at a fortuitous but awkward angle that continues to display Michael Kelly’s stubborn-set jaw as the Destroyer looms over him.
“Naughty, naughty,” the Destroyer says.
Harrison leaps to his feet and shouts something unintelligible while Benson just stares at the images, horrified as their father is beaten relentlessly by the cyborg. When it’s over, Harrison’s arms hang limply at his sides and Benson’s eyes burn from being glued open. Michael Kelly isn’t moving, his face bloodied and bruised and swollen—nearly unrecognizable.
“I’ll keep him alive,” the Destroyer says. “But not for long. Two days. That’s all you have. Two days or he dies. You know where he’ll be.”
A metallic hand reaches toward them and smothers the view, and the video ends.
“He’s still alive,” Janice says calmly, as if she hasn’t just watched her husband get beaten half to death. “Yeah. I told you. He’s still alive.”
~~~
“We don’t know when this video was taken,” Simon says. “He could be dead already.”
“Not dead,” Janice chimes in. Lola barks her agreement.
The argument has been going around and around for almost an hour, and the little time they have feels like it’s slipping through Harrison’s fingers. He wants to go after his dad, but not just for him.
“I’m going,” Harrison says, interrupting something Simon is saying.
“Gonna be hard to stop my Harrison when he wants something,” Janice says.
“We decide together,” Minda says.
“He’s our dad,” Benson says. “We decide.”
Minda lets out an exasperated explosion of breath, which makes Lola flinch. “This isn’t just about your family,” she says. “This is bigger than any of us.”
“You think I don’t know that!” Benson shouts, starting to run an angry hand through his hair but then stopping when he realizes it’s still gelled into a sharp Mohawk. As Lola cowers against him, Harrison’s glad to see the fire back in his brother’s eyes. He’s lost so much, far more than Harrison ever did. If anyone should be curled up in a ball, it should be his brother. But he’s not. He’s still here. He’s still fighting.
“We decide,” Harrison agrees, “but we won’t hang you out to dry.”
Benson frowns, not understanding.
Minda says, “Meaning?”
Harrison explains what has only just become obvious to him. “If we decide to mount a rescue mission for my father, only one of us goes.”
Benson’s eyes narrow and his lip twitches. “And by one you mean you.”
“Yes.”
“No,” Benson says.
“It makes sense,” Minda says.
Harrison can tell his brother gets it because he looks away. Benson seems to speak logic better than any other language. “We can afford to lose one of us—not Janice—but not all of us,” Harrison says. “We can’t risk the whole mission on saving one man, but we can risk me. You don’t need me for the concert tomorrow.”
Benson won’t look at him, his head shaking.
“I’ll come with you,” Simon says, surprising Harrison with a complete one-eighty. The Canadian Digger shrugs. “I still vote no, but if you’re going, I’ll go, too.”
“No,” Harrison says. “I appreciate the offer, but no. We can’t risk more than one on this. It’s too risky.”
“We can go together after the mission tomorrow,” Benson says, his words aimed carefully at the wall on the other side of the room. There’s no conviction behind them, as if his brother fully knows his argument is weak.
“That’s cutting it close. We risk being too late.”
“Why does it have to be you?” Benson asks, turning sharply, his eyes blazing.
Harrison stares sadly into his own face. “Because I know where Dad is being held. Because I know how to handle the Destroyer. And because I can guarantee Destiny has the same idea.”
The fire in Benson’s eyes go out, replaced by wide-eyed, eyebrow-raised surprised. “Destiny? Why would she—”
Harrison almost smiles. Benson doesn’t take long to figure anything out, although in this case he managed to beat his brother to the conclusion. “She was searching for redemption once before, and she didn’t get it. If she saw the news about our father, she’ll head straight for him. She’ll think it’s her last chance to make up for her mistakes.”
“She doesn’t owe us anything,” Benson says. “None of this was her fault.”
“We all know that,” Harrison says, “but she’s in a dark place right now. She’s searching for the light.”
“Mom?” Benson says. “Talk him out of it. Please.”
Janice hugs her son, saying nothing. Harrison loves her for her silence.
“Hopefully I’ll be back before you leave tomorrow night,” Harrison says, grabbing his hoverboard. “If not, kick some Pop Con ass for me.”
Simon ropes a huge be
arlike paw out to shake his hand. “Don’t get yourself dead,” he says. “And I’m coming anyway.” When Harrison juts out a jaw in defiance, Simon crushes his hand. “Try to stop me.”
He pretends it doesn’t hurt, squeezing back as hard as he can. “I guess having an ogre with me could come in handy,” he says between gritted teeth.
When Simon releases him, Minda surprises him with a quick hug, her brown eyes rapidly looking away. “We’ll be waiting. For all of you.”
Janice releases Benson and stretches her arms around Harrison’s back, pressing her cheek to his chest. “You are so strong. You are so good. And I’m proud of you.” Harrison feels himself getting choked up, but then she adds, “Zoran is proud of you, too,” and he laughs.
“Tell Zoran I appreciate it,” he says.
“Don’t worry, he heard you,” Janice says, raising her wrist to show him the watch. “He hears everything.”
Seeming to sense what is happening, Lola bounds up, pawing at his leg. He can tell she wants to go. He picks her up and says, “Not this time, girl. Somebody’s got to watch out for all of these helpless people.” She licks his face and he puts her down.
“Bense,” he says, finally turning to his brother, who still hasn’t gotten up off the couch.
His twin’s expression is stony and hard, and he looks more like Harrison than ever. Maybe they have a lot more in common than just genetics. Regardless, he doesn’t want to make this any harder than it has to be. “See you around,” he says, starting for the door.
“Wait.”
When he turns, his brother stands and closes the distance between them, hugging him hard. For the first time, Harrison realizes his brother is the same height as him, and it feels weird. For some reason he always thought of him as shorter, but not anymore. He slaps his brother on the back and says, “Thank you,” and Benson says, “Be safe,” and then Harrison’s gone, out the door without looking back.