Kill U
Prologue
They say that only when you're faced with death do you really learn to appreciate life. Propped up against the cold brick wall, my blood dripping out of my side like a leaky faucet, and my own pistol tragically out of reach, I look up with my one good eye remaining and see the face of my executioner. My little brother, Aiden, now a full-fledged assassin of his own. A part of me should be proud of him for having made something of himself, but then again, he's got enough pride for the both of us. His gold filigreed Glock 19x spins on his index finger once or twice; he teases me in these final moments. Family means nothing to him anymore, but I'd be a hypocrite if I said that I did anything to prove any different. Even if we got into this business for different reasons, deep down we knew that we both said goodbye to our former lives after we killed our first marks...even if that was the last thing I ever wanted. I guess I resent him a little—not for his outlandish appearance, or for the obnoxious acronym "GOAT" tattooed across his cheek. Goes with the myriad piercings, I guess. No, I resent him because he'll get paid for killing me, and I'll be nothing more than a martyr to a meaningless cause. Sort of makes me feel that I've been prioritizing all of the wrong things in my life. But that's what you do in these moments. Well, that's what they say. No one really can give you firsthand experience. It's funny...despite all of the regret and pain and sorrow, and all of the anger and resignation, I just can't stop thinking about one useless thing. Aiden. I've always thought it was kind of a stupid name. Even at the end, my priorities mean fuck all.
Chapter 1
My name is Gena Azaria, and I'm eighteen years old. I grew up in a small suburb of the Great Lakes residential sector, North Ohio district, and graduated high school with...okay grades. I mean, I would say that I never felt challenged to anyone who asked, but the truth of it was that I wasn't always a "good girl". Since my life is flashing before my eyes, it wouldn't do any good to lie to you now, would it?
I had my first drink at fourteen at a slumber party. My then-friend Rachelle swiped a bottle of synthahol from her daddy's security cabinet, which makes it sound like some impressive feat of legerdemain. But since I never saw her parents without a drink in their hands, let's just say that it wasn't all that hard to walk away with it. I still hate the taste of it—reminds me of medicine; but that didn't stop me from partying it up with my girls twice a week or more.
I had sex at fifteen with a study partner. I don't even remember her name.
I never killed anyone before. People knew that it happened all the time and it was all over the news. Not just on the streets. No, in high-rise corporate offices and federal buildings—which these days were the same thing. It was salacious and scandalous, these stories...rumors and hot takes on what VP ordered a hit on some other rival VP, or whether the senator from the New York Stock Exchange Syndicate, who was found with her pants around her ankles in the back of a Cadillac luxury air car was poisoned or had a heart attack, and if the two high schoolers at the scene had anything to do with it. The saucier the better. Even as a kid, I always felt that we were being sold a version of reality. The tragedy was that I didn't do anything except go with the flow, and that's how I ended up where we started.
College was supposed to be the key to success in the "real world". These days, if you didn't have a degree, you were nothing but a corporate/government slave. All of your money got taxed away, and you had to "apply" to get some of it back to live on, and that was basically how most people stayed alive...grinding away in quiet desperation. Fuck that, I thought. I could do better...I deserved better.
By the time I was seventeen, I graduated high school, and was ready to embark on my collegiate career at GE University. Let me back up a bit. After the Ultra Recession of 2037, corporations filled the void where governments left off, blurring the lines between them irreparably. So schools formerly named after states and people became named after the businesses who bought them. You'd think that there might have been some change to the insurmountable costs of higher education, but you'd be dead wrong. Quite the opposite. Unless you scored well on your corporate aptitude comprehensive application (or "CACA", for short), you were condemned to go to school somewhere like Flappy's Fry Shack Community College. Wanna take a stab what kind of job that corporate diploma landed you?
We were not a rich family. I mean, we weren't like those lazy people trying to live off the grid—criminals the lot of them, like the news said—but my mom and dad could still keep food on the table, even if it was only because they themselves were both graduates of Kroger-UDF Technical Institute; that's how they met. But they couldn't save up enough to send my brother and I to the kind of school where we might have had any chance of changing our lots in life. Of course high schools had changed, too. They now focused on economics and politics over history and arts, which never got anyone a job anyway. The irony was that this just made everything fiercely competitive, so unless you were some kind of child prodigy—or, as was more often the case, already rich—you were screwed. It's like that ancient saying goes: "The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer."
One of the ways that businesses liked to bait their citizens was the Lottery. But the days of billionaire mega-winners ended ages ago. Instead, each time you bought a product from a company and did their seven-page survey, you were entered into a chance to win something else they produced. In the case of GE University, this also included a "scholarship". A few months before I was going to graduate, and my prospects amounted to all but nil, Mom had to replace the dishwasher; the GE model was the only one she could afford.
You may be wondering why we had a dishwasher if we were so "poor". Well, little known fact: dishwashers use less water than hand washing, and since water got rationed when I was a kid, it was necessary. I mean, you could literally be taking a shower and the residential administrators just turn your water off if you hit the threshold. You really had to check the water reports daily on your phones to make sure this didn't happen. Needless to say, Old Spice College and others like it made a killing on deodorant.
Looking back, I'm a little surprised that she did the survey. Nobody ever won those things. That's what I used to think...and I kinda still do...
When Mom got the winning text four to six weeks later, she literally bounced up and down. This was the chance for one of her kids to become someone. I remember her showing the text to Aiden and I, and even though we all knew I was going to get the scholarship—just because I was oldest—he smiled so sweetly in a way that made me realize just how much I missed that kind, innocent boy, and how I had no idea that I was going to ruin everything yet.
He was such a sweet boy. He always did his homework, and always got good grades. He never mouthed off and never got into trouble. I think my mom gave me the award out of pity, but Aiden had a real chance at getting into a good college legitimately...or so I thought. He used to wear these glasses with these thin metal frames. Despite being delicate, he always took good care of them. Never had a broken pair. Aiden didn't have a lot of friends in school; I would say that I "did", but where are those friends now? I always wanted to look after him, protect him...clearly, I failed there, too.
Now when I say "scholarship", I really mean it was like one of those "introductory offers" that bait people into subscription plans that they get so deep into that they can't ever dig their way out of it again. But they don't tell you that, oh no. So this scholarship covered the first semester, and gave me an open enrollment option for a year afterwards if I wanted to continue. It was still better than nothing, and nothing was my only plan so far.
Fast forward to September and my parents taking me to college. Sitting in the backseat of the fixed route solar-powered station wagon they rented at great expense, Aiden and I snacked on popcorn while my parents debated what courses I should enroll in. They had to bring him along because they couldn't hire a sitter, but I wish they hadn't. Once we arrived, his eyes lit up at the gigantic campus, as big as a city—because it was a city. Massive structures emblazoned with the GE University logo everywhere, and copious cross-promotions. The only restaurants were Applebee's and, of course, McDonalds, and you could only drink Coke, though I knew people who would sneak in Pepsi when no one was looking. For me, this was a chance to see if I could get at least something out of the only semester I was sure to enjoy here, but instead this pilgrimage was the spark that lit an inferno within him. He wanted to see everything, go everywhere, and ultimately my parents had to tell him "no...you have to wait".
That's the worst part about growing up. The younger you are, the more you want to live life, and the more you hear "wait". As you get older, the fire dims, and all that's left are the ashes of regret. It's what happened to my parents, and so, so many others. It's like everybody prefers to wait in line rather than actually ride the ride at the amusement park.
That first semester was enlightening, but not in the ways that I expected. My introductory general education classes included production and assembly of GE's new line of refrigerator, which just so happened to look like the last one, just with slightly different paneling. The interior used some motor made at some West Coast city/school made up of Asian diaspora, and they were shipped to my school where we learned how to put it together on the line. I mean, we just controlled the assembly robots for that. It's not like we'd actually do it by hand...to much room for human error. Nobody trusted a product actually built by people anymore.
I also took an elective in customer service. It was a fluff class, because everyone knows that there's no point to call a business anymore, unless you want to wait on hold for hours and hours. Again, everything is done by robots now. It actually makes everything a lot easier, so long as you don't mind not having any control over anything.
I made some friends, too, since nobody I knew from high school could afford to go to my college. Okay, one friend. And even this was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. When you're surrounded by mostly "haves", they usually keep to their own circles, and don't deign to give the "have nots" anything more than a sideways glance. I suppose my fashion sense was a giveaway. I favored jeans and a tank top in the humid autumn weather, while everyone else had more sophisticated fare. Cardigan corsets and blazers with double collars were popular that year.
My best friend was Nancy. Why is it that the "Nancies" of the world make such great best friends? Well, my Nancy was like me; she won a scholarship, too, and was going to school for automotive repair. It struck me as a niche field, since most people just turned in their cars to be recycled if something broke and got a new one, but she told me that there were a lot of rich enthusiasts out there who still kept vintage electric cars. She tried to tell me that some people even had cars powered by gasoline, but I didn't believe her, since fossil fuels were banned decades ago. Everyone was told that the world governments rounded it all up and destroyed it to prevent any further ecological impact...and back then, I believed it like everyone else.
Nancy and I would spend the evenings going out for dinner and studying (actual studying, this time), or just streaming some random movies over a bowl of popcorn. Popcorn was one of the most prolific foods in the world. It was cheap and easy to make, and ever since it started getting nutritionally enhanced, it was good for you, too. Seriously, who couldn't love popcorn? Nancy was a lot smarter than me. She couldn't have predicted winning a scholarship herself, but somehow it all fit into her five year plan. I had no idea what the next step for her was, but in time, she would invite me into her world. That she was thinking about how to make a good living off of rich assholes also told me that she understood how the world really worked. Everybody knew it, but college really made it a reality. Money makes the world go round. As for me, when I needed to do my own thing and I offered for her to join me—that is, party until the sun came up, and wake up in a different bed every time—Nancy politely declined. She was no prude, but I could tell that even though I was her best friend, her future came first. I dunno...that's never really sat well with me, I guess. Not that I can blame her for that...just for a lot of other things.
And then it was six weeks before the end of the semester. The time to start enrolling for the next one was creeping up on me. The cold, sobering reality crept in, with all of the delicacy of waking up in an alley covered in your own puke. I was going home, and life—my actual life—couldn't be paused anymore. I didn't have any transferable skills. I didn't bother to think about that in the delirium of the college experience. No plan, no future. I should have just let Aiden go instead. I cried. A lot. I didn't have a roommate, so I was also alone. Except for Nancy. I called her up, and she knew something was wrong from the start. No amount of eye drops could have concealed my reddened eyes on the video chat. I told her about my fears, that I had blown this great opportunity, unlike her, who I knew had some plan to pay for the next semester. That I would do anything to just keep going for just one more semester, to get my act together. Unfortunately for me and everyone else that I loved and ever cared about, she had an answer...one that would be the end of everything I thought of as good...even if I thought that it was the exact opposite at the time. Hindsight is a bitch.
Chapter 2
"Gena, darling!" Nancy strode through the quad with that characteristic spring in her step that I loved, her scarf-collar trailing behind her in the brisk February morning. She and I used old-fashioned English-sounding accents at times like these, like the kind we heard in some ancient movies…when we knew that the other one was feeling a little down about something and some girl time was needed.
"Nancy, my love!" I extended my arms wide, my vintage denim jacket not quite covering half of my arms. I didn't like to wear a lot of clothing, even when it was bitter cold out. I mean, it never snowed in the cities anymore, so why bother?
"Are you ready?" Nancy had that perky, expectant look in her eyes that made me feel like she was in control of the world.
"I mean, it's not like I have a lot of choice." That sounded a lot shittier than I meant it to; after all, she was trying to help me, and I did say that I would do "anything" to pay for school. What did I have to lose?
Nancy picked up on that, but as usual knew me well enough not to take it personally. "Well, who does have a choice these days? But I mean, are you ready to meet who I was telling you about?" Nancy was being more coy than usual. She was definitely the kind of person who liked to keep her day organized into a tidy schedule which she kept in her pocket tablet. She used to say that she would have liked to have written it on actual paper, which was so expensive that I always thought she was kidding.
I stopped sulking...at least, I put on a good face for her. "Yeah, yeah! I mean, thank you so much. Really. I've been feeling like such a fuck up because it just hit me that I didn't do a damn thing about this, and here you come with an answer you’re willing to share with me. Thank you!"
"It's okay, honey, really." She put her hand on the side of my face and smiled, and I tried, tried not to swoon and make her uncomfortable. When Nancy and I first met at a school club—something about "branding", which neither of us really had any use for—I thought we might be more than just friends. I never brought it up, and it's probably good that I didn't. I found out shortly thereafter that Nancy only liked boys—and only real boys, at that. I think it might have been something religious (not that anyone did that anymore, or at least in public), but it was obvious. You couldn't really come out and say something like that these days without being made to feel like you had some kind of damage, so she just didn't talk about it. But you knew the score if you got to know her. Maybe it had something to do with all of the relics from the past that she was into. I never asked, and now I will never have the chance. But I liked her in spite of myself. I smiled instead.
"We'll meet this guy I was telling you about, and then go get some popcorn pizza, okay?" Nancy continued. I nodded and she took my arm and we skipped a little like the two goofs that we were. I stopped caring about what all of the other rich kids thought long ago. Okay, I guess I can't lie to you. I tried to stop caring, but this was just the insecurity of my upbringing in this world rearing its head. I was going to have to face this eventually.
We had to walk to get to where Nancy was taking us...a lot. I am just glad that I love wearing sneakers for everything. Seriously, I thought that if I ever did get married, I honestly thought I'd wear wedding sneakers. They're really a thing, by the way. Because we must have walked three miles, no joke. But Nancy said that where we were going, we couldn't take automated transportation. I mean, everything we did was tracked to some extent, but she said that automated transport made it a lot more suspicious. That’s when the alarms in my head should have started going off. Just what was Nancy getting us into, and should I be worried about her?
Where we walked looked like it was some abandoned neighborhood, not a human being around, though a meandering security drone floated by high above us. Nancy led us to some kind of ghetto drug store, where the sign was barely attached. , and everything just felt like something was off from the moment we walked in the door. I mean, there was an actual clerk behind the counter. These days, you just took your government ID—which doubled as everyone's prescription card—and inserted it into a kiosk and got your pills or syringes, or whatever they said you needed. But here was a person in what looked like a Halloween costume; he was dressed like a doctor or something, although beneath the coat he was clearly well built, muscular…even intimidating. Nancy told me later that he was meant to be a "pharmacist", which sounded like something you took a pill to get rid of.
"Hello there," the man beamed, bright white teeth nearly glowing. "Sorry, the kiosk is down, but I can help you get anything else from behind the counter that you're qualified to have dispensed." Indeed, there was an automated kiosk that looked like it was older than me covered in dust, with a faded "out of order" projection overlayed on it. I was confused. Nancy didn't tell me why we were going to this hovel.
"Hi," Nancy squinted at his name tag. "...Marvin? My friend and I were looking for Abraxus-19AD for...lady troubles." She gave her own beaming smile, and Marvin's dropped. I was a little shocked to see a guy get so bent out of shape about a gal having her period, although I'd never heard of "Abraxus-19AD"...it sounded fake, and apparently, it was. Marvin lifted the gate on the old-fashioned counter and waived us both through into the back room.
"Anything electronic or mechanical...and I mean anything in the cubby hole," Marvin barked. He wasn't with us in the room, but I knew he could see us, and I didn't want to do anything that would make things hard for Nancy. I put my pocket tablet, my earrings (for music and phone calls), and my identity ring in storage. Nancy once told me that people used to keep all of their documents physically on little laminated pieces of plastic in something called a "purse". It sounds like it must have been really inconvenient. I wonder if people back then had to ever do anything like this. I felt naked without my things.
"When you pass under the arch, put both of your hands up," Marvin continued. There was a black light at the end of the room, faintly illuminating the arch and a door without a handle at the end of the short hallway. "Don't try to open the door. I have to buzz you in." Nancy walked through first and didn't seem the least bit perturbed by it. I was really nervous. I had never seen something like this arch before and had no idea what it might do to me.
"It's a metal detector," she explained; I still had no idea what that was. "They used to use them in airports and government buildings ages ago," Nancy continued. She looked like she wanted to say something more about why I didn't know what this was, but she stopped herself. I admit, it sometimes pisses me off when she gives me that look, like I'm ignorant or something. But she always stops herself…at least after I told her so the first time. She knows how that drives me nuts, and that I don't need that shit from her—I get it from everyone else at school already.
"If you're carrying anything made of metal, it makes a noise, that's all,” Nancy clarified. “It was to keep people from bringing guns into places where they weren't allowed." I rankled at the word "gun", because it's just one of those words you don't use in polite company, or shit, even with friends; it's offensive. But I got that Nancy wasn't trying to offend me—she was just explaining how a relic from the past worked, one that I didn't have any frame of reference for.
I walked through the metal detector, and there was no sound. I breathed a sigh of relief as though I had passed some initiation. But the real initiation was a long way away. Then came the "buzz", which made my heart skip a beat until I saw the door at the other end of the room open slowly. More black light poured out of the room and the strangest music came from the staircase beyond, descending into the unknown. It was actually upsetting and made me feel like my adrenaline was spiking or that I was having an anxiety attack…or maybe that was just the nervousness on top of it. The music was fast and hard and sounded like someone was banging metal dishes and having a seizure with a guitar. I reached into my pill pocket for some Phaukeetals to drown it out, but Nancy grabbed my arm. What was she doing?! She's never done anything like this! "Don't," she calmly said. "I know it's uncomfortable, but you really want to be alert for what I think happens next." Okay, now she was freaking me out, but she did that thing where she puts her hand on my cheek again, and my pulse relaxed as though I took a quarter tab anyway. I did trust her, more than anyone else than my family. I was in.
We walked down the steps, and our skin took on that deathly pallor you get when you're under black light. People were lounging on sofas that looked like they were made out of...actual leather?! That was illegal! And smoking cigarettes?! Nancy held my hand and she gave a waive to someone at the back of the room with her other one…somebody near some green table with a bunch of colored balls on it. A short man with a receding hairline in a brown sports coat and tweed sneakers—who somehow felt like he didn't belong here, either—waived back, and then walked toward us, arms outstretched.
"Nancy! So good you came!" She let go of my hand to hug the guy who might have been an uncle or something. "How's school?"
"Great, Uncle Toby," confirming my suspicions. "Have you heard from Aunt Agatha about the ranch?" I wasn't familiar with the word.
"Your Aunt Agatha had to put down one of the horses, I'm afraid. Broke it's leg." As Toby shrugged his shoulders, I remained lost concerning what they were talking about. I would learn later that Nancy's aunt and uncle were self-described "Freemen" (which somehow also included women, but I don't want to debate the semantics), those same "off-the-grid" types I heard being criticized on the news every day as psychopaths and criminals because they refused to get coded into the system, or found some way to get themselves deleted from it, which always just sounded like suicide to me. I would also later learn that the horse broke its leg due to malnutrition. Seems that living out in the proverbial woods didn't come with luxuries like nutritionally-enhanced popcorn.
"I'm so sorry to hear that," Nancy commiserated. "Are you going to be okay?" She was genuinely sympathetic.
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me. We have two more to pull the plow,” and Toby smirked. Yet again, lost here. Toby looked at me and smiled wider. "Who's your pretty friend?" I was beginning to like this guy less and less.
"This, my dear uncle, is Gena. She's a little shy," Nancy teased to soften the mood, "but I think Hideo would still like to meet her." There was a brief pause as Toby dropped his smile significantly.
"You know, we should have maybe vetted her a bit more, don't you think?"
"Believe me, Tobes, she'll be great." And for the first time, I saw a kind of smile on Nancy that I hadn't seen in her arsenal of personable facial expressions...one that also, for the first time, gave me the smallest sliver of doubt about whether she believed what she just said or not.
"Well, I could never say no to you," Toby exclaimed with gusto. "Okay then, let's not tarry. Hideo's in the back, and he's looking to size you up for training. C'mon." He guided us through the subterranean pandemonium, through the twisting labyrinth of tough-looking people and archaic décor concealed deep beneath that misleading drug store, and into yet another door...a green one. Inside was a jarring contrast to what came before. It was furnished with the most unusual accoutrements. Lamps with stained glass shades, the most ornate floor rugs I have ever seen outside of a museum, and what looked like a "fireplace" (I read about those once), except it was fake. Seated in another leather, high-backed chair was a man who had short-cropped black hair and an expression that reminded me of a sculpture. There was strength there, and I could feel it from across the room. It was like some great corporate leader had been waiting for us and was blessing us with his presence. I actually thought that this was who it was at first.
"Never one to underplay a hand, Monroe." The man was talking to Toby, so I'm guessing Monroe was his last name. Their relationship was clearly business first. He sipped something from a glass that looked like a breast to me.
"No sir. I thought we should be happy to have not just one eager candidate, but two!" Candidate?
"Well, that's just it, isn't it," the man said as he rose. He had to be seven feet tall, easy, making the difference between him and Toby all that more absurd. "We like enthusiasm almost as much as we like dedication. Monroe, formally introduce me to these young ladies, please."
"Yes sir. You know about my niece, Nancy…but, yes, this is Nancy, and her friend...Gena." The slight inflection at the end of his statement made it clear that he had only barely remembered who I was, but I didn't really hold that against him. Hideo looked over us both like he was deciding between a pair of new ties. His ever-so-slight shrug that followed told me he decided on both of them...on both of us.
"Nice to meet you, Gena. Nancy." Despite the cold, even hard exterior, Hideo managed a faint smile that actually put me at ease in spite of myself. I smiled back. "Do you know why you're here?" I wasn't still sure how to answer this. I mean, I really didn't know any more than what Nancy implied. I started to speak, but Nancy finished for me.
"We understand that you provide a service which capable young people like ourselves are best equipped to carry out. Specialty services for special clientele." I've heard Nancy bullshit, and this was no exception. I mean, she had to have some idea—probably something Toby alluded to—but she was clearly as in the dark about the specifics as I was. Nancy hinted about this before we came by telling me an old, old story—probably a myth, really—about a college girl who paid for school by doing porn. That was long before they were owned by corporations, she said. I thought it was ridiculous. I mean, who would be ashamed about that. And why even bother when VR simulations were so real that it's just cheaper and easier to fake it? Besides, the idea of being shamed for sex sounded as foreign to me as if someone told me that the world was flat. But what she was getting at was that what we would be doing would probably not be sexual but would almost certainly be illegal. I was scared, to be honest, but there was so much that was illegal, that I guess it just depended on how bad it was. And there it was: that first step on the slippery slope.
Hideo looked at us both like before, and replied, "You're absolutely right, Nancy. Except that, you could use that sentence to describe just about anything." He saw right through it, but it didn't bother him apparently. "Please," he waived his hand at a pair of additional high-backed leather chairs, just as Toby was closing the door behind him, leaving us alone with Hideo. I sat on the chairs and was surprised at how I loved the feel of the leather on my hands and forearms. It felt...naughty. Hideo took his place opposite of us, perched forward as though he had a message just for our ears that urgently needed to be said...which he did.
"I trust that you have both seen news stories about assassinations of high-profile targets, yes?"
"...Sure," I hesitantly replied. "It's part of the corporate wars, right?" I saw where this was going but kept on with Hideo's questions anyway.
"Smart girl," he said. "It's an open secret that the greatest corporations in the world employ assassins to eliminate problematic outliers. No one admits to doing it, but in the interest of general global stability and harmony, they tacitly encourage it. After all, what are a few sacrifices when compared to the welfare of the whole?" Hideo stood up after this rhetorical question and continued. "The 'service' you spoke of, Nancy, should be obvious by now." He looked us in the eyes, first Nancy then me. "We train you, equip you with everything you need, and finally pay you well to perform this necessary function for global harmony. To put it more bluntly, you will become assassins."
Chapter 3
Looking back on that first meeting with Hideo, I kept asking myself why I didn't say no. And then I remembered how persuasive he could be, and yes, how I didn't want to disappoint Nancy or leave her to it by herself. We were a team, after all. Or maybe all of that was bullshit, too. Maybe Hideo was right all along...it was all about the money.
***
"You're shocked, or at least pretending to be shocked." Hideo stood over us like a monolith in a three-piece suit. I gulped and thought he might actually kill us right there. My blood ran cold, but Nancy—strong, confident Nancy—got up and tried to reclaim the situation.
"No, no, sir," she plied with her characteristic diplomacy. "It's just that this is so fast. Gena and I are looking to continue our education and reach for a better and more secure future for ourselves and our loved ones, yes. And, yes, my uncle did indicate that we might have to do something 'unsavory' to get there, but he and I understand that nobody gets anywhere by just waiting for a handout." She extended her hand toward me. "It's just that the specifics of the work eluded us until now."
"That was by design," the giant answered. "As it should be obvious, we run a trade that, while it fulfills a necessary need, remains illegal at this time. Despite this, history has shown that things which are...unpleasant to consider...things people used to call 'immoral', nevertheless remain desirable means to an end. All of human history and all of our myths and legends revolve around killing to achieve a higher purpose. And like every era in human history, ours represents yet another acknowledgment of why this intrinsic aspect of humanity should not be treated as shameful or worthy of contempt." While Hideo prognosticated, I lost him a little because I didn't know of any "myths" or "history" in truth. I mean, it's like I was always told in school: "You can't look forward if you're constantly looking back. History isn't what's important; only today matters and how it leads to tomorrow." But I did remain transfixed by his charisma and presence, and I felt his words make me more receptive to his ideas.
"What I'm saying, ladies," he continued, "is that despite everything you've been taught heretofore, there is much in the world which you have no idea about. Are you really getting a comprehensive education at college? Are you learning just what you truly need to rise up and become respected...admired...envied? My answer is no; but I can change that for you, now and forever." Hideo walked to the mantle above the artificial fireplace and took from it a small box. He sat down opposite us again and opened the box, and inside were two very small black buttons, about a millimeter in diameter. "Monroe," he called out with a booming voice, at which point Toby reentered the room and stood, from what I assumed in a place that seemed to be blocking the exit.
"These are your first test. If you fail, you leave. I'm not concerned about you telling anyone else about what you've seen or what I've said to you today, because I know that you won't. You're smart girls," he said with a smile that suggested something other than mirth. "To pass this test, you must ingest the button. It won't hurt you, but it is required for the second test, which I will only tell you about after you pass the first." He waited, and so did I. Sure, I ate strange tablets at parties growing up, and yes, they messed me up; that was the point. But it was always in a party environment, which this most certainly was not. And I was unsure. But before I could protest, Nancy reached out her arm, and tossed the button down her throat, as though she were just munching on some popcorn. I was aghast. She had no idea what this was, nor did I, or what it would do to her, and I sure as shit wasn't about to take it on faith because her creepy uncle was standing a few feet away. Nancy smiled. She looked over to me. There was a long pause.
"I love you," she said tenderly, and my heart jumped up to my throat. "You're my dearest friend, and I trust you, just as you trust me. We can do this together. I want us to succeed. I want us to reach up and take something we’re entitled to from this world…something that has always been kept from us. This is the only way we can. We're seizing our future, we're empowering ourselves. We're not 'slaves', as you've always feared. But I believe that if we don't do this, right now, that's exactly what we'll be forever. Please, don't make me do this alone."
She said "I love you", but I think she meant it with those three horrible words that follow: "as a friend". She did, but it didn't matter. She was right. I trusted her. And was a fool. I didn't even look at the button. I didn't feel it go into my throat, or think about anything else that it was intended to do later. Trust is thinking with your heart and not your brain, but it's the wrong tool for thinking in the first place…one of many. And yet it made me feel good to do it. How many things have I done to "feel good" that only made me feel worse later?
"Good," Hideo exhaled. "Now, the second test." Hideo lifted up a false bottom from the box which held the buttons and produced what looked like a ratty old notebook bound in black leather. It was embossed with a skull and crossbones with the words "The Assassination Game" etched into the cover. I had never seen a physical book before, outside of the virtual museums that I had visited, but those weren’t "real" in the strictest sense of the word. "This book is a training exercise. It has all of the skills and practices necessary to develop into an assassin. It was, believe it or not, played as a 'game' by people long ago, although in this book, no one actually killed anyone. It was just pretend." He handed me the book first. I hesitantly took it and flipped through the pages. I saw rules, diagrams, and pictures, although all of it seemed very archaic. Hideo must have been very smart to have been able to decipher all of this. He got up and paced through the room like a lion in command of his den, while Toby helped himself to a beverage from a table lined with a few bottles filled with liquids of varying shades of brown.
"You will receive copies of this book, each hand copied onto recycled paper, and kept secretly in a shell resembling a pocket tablet. You cannot reveal the existence of this book to anyone other than to those I indicate. Understood?" He looked at us, and we nodded. "Right. You will memorize the contents of these books, because they will not only form a template for how you will carry out your assignments, but also to make sure that you can take direction like good pupils. You will train by playing this game; not with one another, but an actual assassin who will be unknown to you. Know that you are in no real danger, but this assassin knows the game as you will, and at some point which you least expect, they will touch your shoulder and tell you that 'you're dead'. And that will be the end of the first game. It's that simple."
I was confused, and made that clear, unconcerned about whether I sounded stupid or not. "So...we're not actually killing anyone, but letting someone else pretend to kill us, right? I don't get it."
"I hear what you're saying, Gena," Hideo acknowledged, "but keep two things in mind going forward. First, in order to understand what it means to be an assassin, you must observe how one operates. But a good assassin will not give you any indication of their intentions until it is too late. Know that the one who 'kills' you in this game will become your 'mentor', from whom you will learn all of the real world applications of this game, and will challenge you to try to do the same to them. That will be the third test." Hideo paused for a moment and crossed his arms across his broad chest. "And second, Gena, and more important: I have chosen you for this rare opportunity. It is not important whether you understand my directions; you will follow them, because all of this will be for nothing if you don't. I will not continue to employ someone who is not willing to accept orders without question. I do not need to prove myself to you; rather, it is the other way around. Agreed?" I felt as small at that button that I ate, and feebly replied that I did.
***
I was laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think of too much of what happened. It was like I saw some other side of the world, some dirty side that I naively thought didn't exist, but always knew that did. I wanted to call my mom, but Hideo anticipated this, and told us that no matter what we were feeling after today, that to prevent any "issues" later on about the clandestine nature of our business, that for at least twenty-four hours, we were to refrain from reaching out to anyone who we knew. We were even to skip class and stay in our rooms and avoid contact with anyone we could while we mentally processed this information. It was what he called "isolation therapy". I probably should have tried to do some homework, but maybe Hideo was right; I couldn't focus on anything. I watched some shows and movies, but again, I would drift off and forget about what I was doing. I wondered if the button had anything to do with this. Hideo wouldn't have explained what it was, even if we asked. He made that abundantly clear after dressing me down for my interjection earlier. And I just couldn't sleep.
Toby escorted Nancy and I from the "bar" (as he called it afterwards) and we made our way back to our dorms in all but total silence. We looked over at each other from time to time. We had been exposed to something neither of us understood, but before the end of our next semester, we were going to have to understand at the very core of our being. And we were going to get dirty...far dirtier than just making a nasty porno.
***
"Before you go," Hideo closed, "I have something I want to play for you." He retrieved a small media drive from his pocket and set it into an old-fashioned looking tablet, which for some reason had an archaic keyboard attached to it. It looked like some kind of briefcase, and I chuckled a bit because here I thought that Hideo was rich and yet here he was using this ancient looking machine. Couldn't he afford something newer? A video came on the screen, shown from the first person. The scene was an upscale restaurant, the kind where only ultra-rich CEOs and the like could afford to eat. The music was lively, and people were all wearing the same fancy, tailored outfits. It must have been some corporate gathering; I've heard that they wear uniform evening wear for these kinds of things and are only allowed to accessorize to a certain degree to represent individuality. Still, it all seemed so glamorous. I thought that Hideo was giving us a taste of what we might look forward to in our future. I was half right.
The camera focused on one of the partygoers who got up from the bar; it watched him move to the restroom. Then, the camera rose up and made its way there as well. It then became apparent that what we were seeing was from someone else's perspective, and not something staged. This person moved effortlessly through the crowd, and upon entering the bathroom, turned and locked the door behind himself. He then walked up behind the man in the tuxedo at the urinal, pulled a thin metal cord from out of his cufflink, and wrapped it around the victim's neck. The camera shook so violently, it looked like an earthquake, and I was feeling nauseous. This went on for at least a minute but it felt like twenty. Gurgling, sputtering sounds mingled with the sound of expensive Gucci loafers squeaking against the tile floor...until a loud crack was followed by soul-chilling silence.
The figure moved with the body into one of the stalls with his gloved hands, the victim's eyes and tongue bugging out like a cartoon, and a dark purple ring around his neck, which was bent at what looked like an impossible angle off to the side. He locked the stall door, then slid under the gap below with serpentine ease, and emerged into the now unoccupied bathroom. The killer than took a moment to look into the bathroom mirror. Wearing a pair of featherlight glasses was the face of none other than Hideo. The video ended, and I struggled to breathe. Nancy threw up.
***
The video went round and round in my mind. I was shocked, yes, but not because these things didn't happen. I wasn't naive...or, at least I wasn't completely oblivious. All you had to do if you really wanted to watch a "snuff" film like that was to go to a virtual space online. But that was fiction, and this was real. Online was another world, really, and people used to think that you could get hooked on it and lose out on being productive members of society by wasting away there. So, like water, it was rationed. People needed an escape, and those in control recognized this. Like with water, online "downtime" was limited based on society's needs. If productivity was flagging in one sector, downtime decreased to compensate, and vice versa. This encouraged citizens to work hard so that they could all make sure to get a fair share of downtime. Murder simulators were a part of this, like sex simulators, space simulators, superhero simulators, and on and on. And when people got too obsessed, their biochip recognized the adrenal overload and dosed accordingly.
The news didn't show the assassinated in graphic detail, at least not without pixelation, but it wasn't hard to disable the filters, and the media surely knew this. So yeah, if you wanted to see a dead body, all you had to do was watch the news or go online. You just didn't want to do it in polite company.
But that didn't change the fact that I saw the man who gave me some pill and a handbook strangle some nameless VP in a bathroom today. Hideo was making it clear, in no uncertain terms, that we—Nancy and I—would have to do the same thing, or whatever else fit with our client's needs. It was startling. It wasn't like I was opposed to death or anything. Everybody had the right to go to the doctor when they were done with life, and that was that. Nobody batted an eye. It was just different when it was somebody important, I guess.
I listened to the sound of my own breathing. I thought about what Nancy must be going through right now. I watched the clock until three p.m. and when it came, as my hand went toward my earrings to call Nancy, she beat me to it. I picked up.
"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed. "I had this terrible fear that something might have happened to you." I felt a little guilty for not thinking as severely as she had.
"I'm okay," I lied. "I'm glad you're okay, too. You didn't read any of that handbook yet, did you?"
"No, I couldn't focus on it. You?"
"Nah. I think I should, though...after I just give a call to my mom to say hello."
"Yeah..." Her voice dropped. Shit! I forgot in the moment. Nancy told me that her mother died in an industrial accident nine years ago. She and her father could barely stay afloat on his income alone, and he couldn't find anyone who wanted to take on the stigma of a stepdaughter. Her father, clearly old school, didn't just donate Nancy to a child welfare facility like most people did in that situation, which made growing up very, very hard. And I just brought it back with one stupid off-hand comment.
"Oh, no, I'm sorry, Nancy. I didn't mean..."
"It's okay, really. I've just been feeling really raw since yesterday. Don't worry about it." Damn, I could even hear her smile through the phone.
"So, do you want to come over and study this fucking thing with me?" My voice cracked as I tried to joke about everything. She laughed, which means that I had scored a hit.
"Yeah...yeah, I think that would be good. We have to have each other's back on this."
"Always." Except, not always.
Chapter 4
I was dead before I knew what was happening. I guess that's the sign of a good assassin. The other person, I mean, not…me, of course.
I was nervous and excited the whole time, I have to admit. It was like waiting for Holiday presents, but also I felt like I should be learning something. It kind of distracted me from my school work, unfortunately. Final projects were coming up. I and my "team" (my class) were to assemble a dozen refrigerators of the same model with the same uniformity, or we would fail. Nancy liked to tell me that schools used to determine success by applying a letter grade. Now, with the intense focus on consumer data, schools went straight to a success/fail model. You either made a perfect product for the consumer, or you were out, because one bad review could ruin a company. Yes, accidents happened, and people were held accountable. For assemblers, it usually meant only termination, but for those VPs—the kind I knew I would be dealing with on a "personal" level—it meant so much more. Financial ruin, their legacies dissolved and redistributed, and of course, death. No, death wasn't officially a part of failing to meet the job objectives, but it was again one of those open secrets. This led to increasingly fierce competition, conservative business tactics measured rigorously against consumer data, and also plausible deniability as a rule. And lots of backstabbing. Of course, I didn't know this all yet. I was just getting into "the business", but I would discover plenty after the curtain of mystery was yanked aside.
I would walk to class through the quad, wearing optical shades. I never used to wear them, but it occurred to me that doing so would allow me to catch anyone approaching me out of my peripheral vision without giving away that I saw them. I thought I was so clever. I borrowed a pair from Nancy. I actually didn't like wearing glasses, and they were really just for fashion anymore, due to solidifying liquid contact lenses being a thing. Of course, Hideo would insist that we wore them on our missions to record our work. He would later tell us that the technology for recording contact lenses was still some ways off, unfortunately.
Every time someone was walking the other way on my path and got within six feet of me, I went on alert. I watched them as they moved closer into my personal space and made sure their hands were outside of my reach. I really didn't know what I would do if they were the assassin or not. Hideo didn't expressly say that the assassin couldn't attack in broad daylight, but the rulebook (which I mostly had memorized by this point) said that the game should be played without witnesses, so it was still anybody's guess.
A week went on, and I started to relax a little. I was able to contribute somewhat to my final project, which wasn't really due for another few weeks, but I still had not paid for the next semester yet; neither had Nancy. I was becoming more concerned about this than anything and was actually hoping that I would get attacked sooner than later to stave off the waiting. I didn't have to wait long.
Coming back to my student cell at night, long after a work session with my team went over time, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and a husky voice say, "you're dead". What happened next was a blur. Instincts I never knew I had kicked in and I reached for the hand and grabbed it. Bad idea. The assassin twisted my body in such a way that I was hoisted off of my feet and pressed to the ground with an audible thud. I felt the point of something sharp against my neck—a spot that I would later learn was called a "carotid artery”. This made me tense up, and despite my desire to lash out, to kick and scream, a face emerged from the darkness with a finger pressed against her lips, and said, "shoosh", like the wind whistling through the rooftops of the school's multilevel campus.
"Good instincts, but too late," the voice continued. In the relative dark, my eyes began to adjust. The voice belonged to someone I took to be a woman. Her hair was concealed by a hood wrapped tightly around her skull. She wore long but tight-fitting dark fabric that further supported my suspicions that this was a woman. She had a wiry frame and unusually long arms and legs. She wore a belt and harness with several pockets. She reminded me of one of those ancient stories about superheroes that Nancy told me about one night while watching some colorful action vid. Suddenly I wanted popcorn. (Focus, Gena, focus!)
"Get up, little one," she continued, "and turn on your lights." I walked delicately toward the sensor and waived my hand. She knew to keep out of the sensor! Otherwise, she would have triggered it. Kinda amazing, I thought. As the lights came on, I saw who my killer was more clearly. She did indeed appear to be a woman with dark skin and wearing dark gloves. She had tactical boots that hugged the curvature of her feet. I noticed a poncho on the hook behind my door, so I knew she couldn't have come into my room looking like this, though I still struggled to put together how she got in at all. Access was restricted by identity rings, so unless she already lived here, she shouldn't have been able to enter my wing.
"Who are you," I asked, a bit stupidly, but still cradling the back of my head from the throw.
"I am India. I am to be your mentor, and you have a lot to learn." I didn't think that she was being deliberately rude, so I let that go. Besides, I did need her tutelage, whether I liked it or not. "Sit down on your bed," she pointed, but did not join me. "Do you know why I killed you?"
"Because you snuck into my room, and..." India interrupted.
"Wrong. Because you did not think like an assassin." My patience was fading fast, and the swelling lump on the back of my head did nothing to quell it.
"I read the fucking book, what do you fucking want from me?!" India was in front of me in one step, and again put her finger to my lips and said "shoosh". She had such a presence that I obeyed in spite of my anger.
"You read the book. Good. But there is more to understand." She sat down opposite me, on the floor, her legs akimbo. "Do you know what it means to end a life?" She was asking a rhetorical question, and I was annoyed, so I didn't answer; I crossed my arms instead and pouted. "It means to disrupt the balance of the world." Oh, great…I got some kind of spiritual nut job for a mentor. Fucking thanks, Hideo. "Do not roll your eyes at me now." I was actually startled. I didn't think I gave any visible clue at my frustration, but she saw anyway. "You need to accept that you are a part of the whole."
"Yeah, we all are. That's how all of the businesses that make up our world keep things moving smoothly. We're a part of the machine, and that's a good thing." Back then, I believed it, too.
"No. You are more than that. You are a woman. You are a soul encased in flesh that will rot and die eventually. But it should not be before its time. That is where we are special. We defy this natural order because something else threatens the harmony of the world. What we do, we do for a greater purpose. Otherwise, we are no different than a beast." I knew what she was referring to, although I had never seen a "beast" or animal in person. People kept virtual pets that looked like dogs and cats, but keeping a real one was forbidden, due to potential disease, overpopulation, and so on. Many animals had since been made extinct, but their DNA was kept in cold storage it was said, so it wasn't like they were gone forever, right?
"Look," I calmly stated—as calmly as I could, at least—"I respect your...feelings about life and stuff. But I was told that you would teach me to be an assassin. I have to do this quick, because I have to pay for the next semester, and I need money, and..."
"Listen to yourself," India interrupted again. Rude. "You say, 'I have to'…'I need'. What do you need?" I really didn't understand her anymore. "You don't really know. It's okay. I was like you many years ago. I cried myself to sleep in the outlands. My parents were both supervisors at a profitable identity ring manufacturing company. I was very rich. I thought I was very happy. I had everything I needed for a safe, calm, placid life. And then they died. It was a freak accident. An earthquake. A building collapsed on them." I wanted to reach out to India. I was sad for her in spite of everything that happened earlier. She continued, "I was dumped by the corporation into a ‘donation center’. Have you ever been to one? It is slavery, plain and simple. For the rest of your life, you make microelectronic processors. Do you know what they do to you if you make a mistake? I saw once." She was quiet for a moment, and breathed in. I saw her slight chest rise and fall beneath her body armor. "You like popcorn?" I was taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.
"Yeah, I love it. Why?"
"Do you ever have any of those little kernels at the bottom of the bag. They do not 'pop' like the rest?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you eat them, as was their intended purpose?"
"No, it's hard. Besides, I get enough nutrients from..."
"You throw them away. 'Recycle' them. But when people get 'recycled', they do not come back." I began to understand a little. Nobody ever talked about the orphans or forgotten people. Everybody just hoped that they wouldn't become one themselves. "I was approached by a tall man looking to buy orphans for a project. That was Hideo. I still don't know how he did it, but he took me under his wing. I was his first assassin. He told me that I was to be an avenging angel, and that I would be put to use in a long and dangerous mission to help undermine key points in this flawed system, to pave the way for a glorious revolution." Now I was getting more and more worried. I started to think she was actually talking about "terrorism", and no matter what, I wasn't going to go down that road. Corporations wiped out whole residential blocks if they even sniffed a terrorist conspiracy. Again, India was very observant, and picked up on my rigid fear. "It's okay. The revolution is many years away. We will not fix the world so soon after we took so many years to break it. For now, we work as soldiers, as a part of the system. You decide if and when you become anything more."
For the first time, I noticed that she wasn't wearing glasses. I thought that strange, given that I thought assassins were supposed to wear them on their missions. I thought that this might not technically be a mission, so no need to record it. I was so naive then.
"Okay," I acknowledged and stood up; India did the same, again in one precise movement. "Where do we start?"
***
I'd like to say that India had the decency to wait until dawn at least to get to training. I'd like to say that, but that would be a lie.
We began in a way that I thought was dull at first, but I understood later why she did it. Breathing. What no movie or show or book will tell you—except the good ones—is that anything you do that requires stamina, physical exertion, or concentration begins with good breathing. India understood that better than anyone else I've ever met. She shared techniques with me that worked better (or at least more reliably) than any pill I ever took. We just sat there on the floor (my butt hurt after a while) and looked at each other. I matched my breathing to hers. She taught me breathing techniques that made me forget I was tired, that made me feel like I was faster and stronger. Some of these came later, but yeah, lungs fucking rule.
Stretching was next. My muscles and tendons weren't used to this. I mean, I always thought I was in good shape, until I met India. She was an athlete. She actually bent both of her legs behind her head! She told me not to try this yet, though, but said that "someday I would do this" in that voice that she had which brooked no argument…so matter-of-fact that it was like it was etched in replica stone.
At dawn, she started taking off her body suit. She was physically perfect, although a bit more muscular than I liked…but that didn’t stop me from staring. She looked at me and paused…then she read my mind. "We are not having sex. I am borrowing your clothing." I shrugged. You couldn't say no to India—she would just interrupt you before you did.
She put on a short-sleeved fabric shirt and leggings of mine that I wore on days when I just didn't care. Not the most stylish outfit, but probably the most comfortable.
"Okay. Next, we do exercise. I have to blend in so your clothes are necessary." I chuckled a bit, and she smiled for the first time I had ever seen. I think she was trying to make a joke, because we both knew that my clothes were too baggy and too short for her, but also that with her physique, there was no way she was blending in anywhere around my campus. "Let's go to the roof."
We left my room and made our way to the stairs. I asked her why we didn't just take the elevator, and before I could even finish my question, she said, "You need exercise. You aren't too fat, but you could lose a few pounds. Stairs are good for that." Wasn’t sure how to take the “not too fat” comment, but more about that later. She jogged up them two at a time. Okay, okay, she was right. I was sweating my face off by the time we reached the halfway point. "Remember to breathe!" she shouted down. I couldn't even reply.
She was waiting for me at the top, arms crossed and smirking. "Fuck you," I wheezed. She laughed; I wanted to, but my flabby lungs weren’t having it.
"Okay. You see now why breathing is important. I am not out of breath, yes?" She stretched out her arms, and breathed in. "We are very high up. No one will see us here." I wasn't so sure about that. I mean, I thought there were surveillance cameras on the rooftops. Still reeling, I pointed at them. Again, she smiled. "Those...are not real." I straightened up and looked at her askance. "Our world is one built on fear...fear of being caught, of doing something we're not supposed to do. Fear of being seen for who we really are. But everyone forgets that someone has to see you do it first. How many people do you think you would need to monitor each and every 'camera' all over the world? Answer: too many. So there are some fake cameras here and there. Most cameras are fake...but not all. These are." She pointed a small device she took from her pocket (my pocket?) and pointed it at one of the cameras. It emitted a faint pulse...then nothing. "Had those been real cameras, they would have exploded." She held out the device toward me. "Targeted electromagnetic pulse generator. Good tool to have." She threw it to me, and I barely caught it. "Yours."
"Seriously?" I was astonished. I'd never even heard of something like this. I thought they only existed in movies.
"Yes. Now, to training. Attack me."
"What?"
"Attack me. However you like. I want to see what you think will hurt me." I didn't actually want to hurt her. India would later tell me that this was the most important reason why I couldn't touch her. I couldn't touch her, no matter what I did. I rushed at her with a punch. She tripped me while stepping to the side. I jumped at her. Again, she moved out of the way. I threw grit from the rooftop at her. You don't have to be a genius to figure out what happened next. We went on for almost a half an hour like this before I started to feel really fatigued. "Again, breathe." She said that so often, but eventually, in spite of it all, I listened. And fuck me if it didn't work. I actually could keep going. I still couldn't hit her, but I didn't feel like a pile of old industrial rags anymore. I was sweating and I loved it. I was getting hungry, but I was so enthusiastic that I didn't care. I felt like something heavy was burning away in me. I felt like I had some kind of chain taken off. The more I did this, the better I felt. But I still couldn't hit her.
Hours passed. India retrieved a pair of snack bars from the pocket and we sat down and ate. I didn't even see her take that stuff out of her harness. I asked her about how she managed that sleight of hand. She said that she didn't, that she put these things in the pockets of the outfit she was going to change into before I even came back to my room the night before. I gulped hard, realizing that she really was always three steps ahead of me.
"I've been watching you for a week now, Gena. I know all about you. I know that you prefer fruits to vegetables, that you like slightly overcast days more than sunny ones, that you have a brother named Aiden, a mother named Nadia, and a father named Alexi, and that you came here because you were given a semester to work for GE University. It is not a real education, no. I know you don't like mint flavored toothpaste. I know you masturbate at almost exactly eleven p.m. every night." (Okay, too much info, India. Seriously...) "I know that you are a good person, but you need help to see the world for what it is, to live in this brave new world without thinking of yourself as just another piece of a machine. I will do this for you because Hideo did this for me so long ago.
"I tell you this, Gena Azaria, because you must be fully aware of your surroundings, of your target, of yourself before you embark on any mission, especially one so important as the one we are on. You must anticipate your target's every move, decision, and choice in advance. It is an art." (Again, people kept using words around me I didn't know. What is "art"?) "It is something that comes with time, yes, but you must learn quickly." India rose. "We are done here for today. I will return at night to confer with you. Today, you choose a stranger and watch them. Observe what they do, but do not draw attention to yourself. Just watch. When I return, I will ask you about that person. Okay?"
"Yeah." I was a bit bushed, even if I was also energized. "Is a restaurant a good place to start looking for people?"
"Maybe, but you are a student, yes? You should follow a student first. See what they do. Also, less suspicious. What happens when the other person finishes eating and you have not, hmm?"
"Okay, I guess I should go to school, is what you're telling me?"
"Yes. Go to school but learn something they won't teach you."
***
I went to class and had to make up some excuse about anxiety to bow out of my contribution to the final project. I did feel kinda crappy lying about that, but to be fair, I was feeling a bit anxious...excited really. India had given me "homework", and I had a feeling that I was going to please her with what I observed.
I left class and wandered through the quad a little. India suggested that I didn't wear the optical shades for this exercise, as they actually tended to attract more attention than they reduced. She said that I should always keep my eyes ahead of me as though I was going in one direction. Instead of watching a mark, you watched their trajectory. You considered where they would most likely be later and verified periodically as subtly as possible. Take advantage of the environment, she said, but not to the point where it looks staged. Your phone earring falls out. Stop and pick it up, spray it with sanitizing gel, and reinsert. A news advertisement plays on one of the rotating virtual projections en route. Stop for a few seconds to watch, but no more. And so on and so forth. And resist the temptation to pick a mark that is someone you've seen before or know. For this exercise, a total stranger will yield the purest results.
So I did just that. I noticed a man in an olive and teal sweater with a fashionable (a little too fashionable) beret with pseudo-feather accoutrements stop for tea at a mobile kiosk. I could tell based on outfit that he was probably pursuing a career in warranty defense at GE; just something you picked up after a while on campus. I thought he might be a good mark, but he wasn't moving just then and I was. I thought about sitting down on a bench but thought about what India told me about "appearing suspicious", so instead I speculated as to how long it would take for his tea to be dispensed (not too long, given rapid steeping technology), and made a circle around the news display. This put me in a position right behind him just as he was leaving the kiosk. Great! Off to a good start.
India suggested that you should try to remain nearly three meters away at all times, and behind your mark when you could. This was a lot easier than expected, as he took an earring call. I heard him share some news about his coursework with presumably one or more of his parents. He asked about how Sadie was doing in her pre-application prep school, and then onto how the new car was handling. The conversation was boring, but I tried to remember the way he responded to each topic. Concerned about Sadie. Interested in the car. Called parent or parents at three-zero-nine p.m.
I continued until he reached the transport hub. Although I boarded far behind him, I wasn't able to sit anywhere except within a few feet of him. India warned me that if and when you have to be in close proximity to your mark, never look at them unless they address you directly, then act as though it w the first time you ever saw them. This was key here. At one point, the man let his empty tea cup slip from his hands, and wouldn't you know it, it rolled toward me. I picked it up and handed it to him. He politely apologized and smiled to me. I nodded, said, "no problem", and went back to staring at my pocket tablet. I did notice that he had a slightly crooked nose. Strange, I thought. Those things are a quick fix at the walk-in surgery clinics. Body modification was more efficient than ever, even though it was something that was still pretty much reserved for the rich, which this guy surely was. I wondered if he broke it recently and just didn't have time to fix it. Maybe in some sporting match, or something else physical. It gave me something to ponder.
When he got up to leave, I didn't...not yet anyway. I waited until he was already off of the vehicle before I did the same, maintaining my distance. This decision could have resulted in an error that would have given me away. After all, people might think, "why didn't she get up at the stop right away instead of waiting to get off?" Still, I took a gamble. and got away with it. He didn't see me, and when I followed him through the city square, my suspicious were confirmed. He entered a gymnasium and walked over to the volley-squash courts. So he was into sports! That wasn't so unusual, but I felt a little bit of pride at guessing as much from something physical. I decided to test my luck and go inside as well. I knew that there was no way that I could keep my eyes on him that closely, but the gym had an upper-level track. Time for a run, I thought! I bought some disposable gym wear from the machine and went jogging. From up above, I had a clear eye on what he was doing.
Several minutes in, I watched as his virtual racket missed the totally not virtual ball and collided with his arm. Well, that supported my theory about him breaking his nose in a sports-related injury. Once he was done, he took a standing shower and I could tell that he had a few extra pounds to spare. It was known that because of food rationing, being a little better endowed with weight was actually a sign of wealth, which is kind of why I thought that India was flirting with me this morning with her comment about being “not too fat”; and I thought I was actually too skinny. After all, if you had the wealth to eat well, you did, unlike those who didn't.
After he left the gymnasium, instead of going to the transportation hub, he continued down the street. That was lucky, as I didn't know how I was going to explain being on the same vehicle with this guy again. He made his way over to a fancier restaurant and went inside. Fuck. India made it clear that restaurants were a problem for trying to monitor a mark. You could never tell when the person was going to finish their meal, and unless you were visibly wealthy, it was highly suspicious to leave food unfinished on your plate. Fortunately, India made sure that I understood one of the most valuable skills when tracking someone: watch and wait. I had a good line of sight into the restaurant from the opposite side of the street. I saw my man sit down at a table with some other people who were clearly waiting for him. They were dressed in almost matching olive and teal outfits, which gave me the impression that they either worked together or were his parents trying to convey some kind of dynastic relationship. The age difference supported the latter. Along with them were a man and woman wearing suits with the same coloration as highlights. Of course! This was a placement dinner! They were vetting the young man for a future in the company. That explained the swanky eats. Unfortunately, this meant that I would be waiting in the dark for nearly two hours. Yet India's words rang out in my mind: "Patience is your greatest weapon."
Eventually they left the restaurant and the young man parted ways with his probably parents and the interviewers. I followed him from across the street to his dormitory. I knew I couldn't get inside with my own identity ring, because it wasn't coded for that entrance, but I had an idea. I waited a few minutes to see a light come on a few floors up, so I guessed that's where he lived. Then I took off my ring and waited for a couple of giggling girls to stumble their way back to the entrance. Time to see how far I could take this, I thought, as I approached them.
"Excuse me!" I flagged them down. "I'm such an idiot! My identity ring got snagged on some gym clothes I was recycling, and got caught in it, and totally fucked up their processing engine!"
"Oh, seriously?!" one exclaimed. Saying that you were without your identity ring was like saying you forgot how to count to ten or something. It was bad. "What are you going to do?", the other slurred. Clearly they had been enjoying some relaxing supplements. I picked a couple of winners, I thought.
"I don't know..." I pressed my palms to my face, like I was going to cry. "I need to get inside to my room so I can go to sleep. I'll have to go back in the morning for it. Would you please just let me in. I won't tell anyone! Please!" I thought I was being convincing, and for a moment, I thought they would take the bait. But the other one (less tipsy) held her arm out to block her friend from me.
"Hold on," Less Tipsy sputtered, "We can't do that, and you know that!" Fuck, this wasn't going to work, and I might have gotten myself into deep shit because of it.
"Wait, wait, wait a minute..." They were growing more nervous. "Just go in and get the resident authority. Tell her to check for my name, 'Carol Cross', okay? She should see my name in there, and can let me in, okay?" I was making this up, obviously, except that I did know that a resident authority (or, "RA") could verify this. Yeah, it was not going to work, but it would give me a chance to get away. Stupidstupidstupid...
They said they would and cautiously went inside; I didn't wait around for the aftermath and booked it back to my dormitory cell. India was waiting.
"You made a mistake," she started in on me already.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know! You don't have to rub it in." I didn’t even have time to wonder how she knew before she continued dressing me down.
"Actually I do. You realize that what we are going to be doing is illegal, yes?"
"Yes. Yeah, I do. I just..."
"You just thought that enthusiasm would make up for foolishness. It does not."
"Okay, fine. What did I do wrong?" Of course I knew, but I wanted to see if she did.
"You made someone suspicious, maybe more than one person. What happens if they see you again? What happens if they recognize you? We live in very suspicious times, where everyone is trained to pick up on any slight deviation in behavior and report it. You may have jeopardized everything, just because you wanted to impress me." She wasn't angry. I don't know if she really knew what happened or not, but I knew that she was right. I went pale and sat on my bed. India sat down beside me. I told her what I saw, and what I learned. She listened intently, and at the end of it, despite everything that came before, she said, "good".
We talked the rest of the evening about how I could use these skills when tracking a mark. She said something about "discretion being the better part of valor". I asked her what that meant. She said that Hideo told it to her when she was starting, and how it meant that one should always know when to stop. I was beginning to feel like I could trust India. I think I said something about how people shouldn't let other people tell them when to stop, because it was their right to push themselves as far as they could go. "Sometimes," she nodded, "that is true. But everything has a consequence, and no one can know absolutely every outcome to their choices. Sometimes the best choice is to accept that there is no choice at all. That means doing what is 'right' instead of what you 'want'."
***
I slept like a baby. I had forgotten that I had been up over a day and a half, and that I did more exercise in that time than I had in any given week prior. India surprised me in my room again that morning as I awoke, dressed in less intense apparel than when we first met. This outfit fit her much better than my clothes could. She let her hair down—literally—which was comprised of short but lovely rich curls. I was a little jealous.
"Hideo has approved you to participate in an 'assassination game'," she told me with a smile. "You are moving fast." I was a little surprised. I mean, I just started training with India, and already? I knew she had something to do with this, but I wasn't sure that I was satisfying her. I felt like I had only just begun.
"Are you sure I'm ready?" I inquired. In truth, I was thrilled. The sooner I get through this "test", the sooner I could get to work and make some money.
"No one is ever 'ready', Gena, but that is the point of the game. You will discover your weak spots, you will learn about your shortcomings, and compensate. You will leverage your strengths, which despite last night, includes your zeal and your perseverance. You have a target already. Your friend, Nancy, is still training, but it shouldn't be long before she's ready to play." I was surprised to hear this. After everything, I was sure Nancy would be ahead of me at this—she was at everything else.
"...Okay. Who is it?"
"His name is Sanjay Meera, and he is a third-year student here studying warranty defense law. Here is his picture." When India showed me the image of a slightly overweight young man in an olive and teal sweater, I couldn't stop laughing.
Chapter 5
The big day was here. Actually, two big days, and I'm not gonna lie, I was freaking out. First, my final project. We hit a slight snag with getting the automation line to properly secure the coolant wiring to the computer board, which would have killed us outright. Until I saw that there was a mismatched line of code that wasn't properly soldering the circuits; they were backwards. It would have meant that the refrigerator would have become a slow cooker instead...not exactly the best thing, to put it mildly. Everybody was so blown away when I noticed that. Honestly, I think that India's training, making me more and more observant about my world, was really what made it happen. But it's not like I could tell anyone about it.
The second big day was, of course, my first job. I had to go back to see Hideo—I hadn't seen him since we met—because India told me that he always gives out the instructions first-hand, so as to avoid any potential misunderstanding about the gig. He always managed to surprise me. Instead of the officious suit he wore on our first meeting, he was dressed like he was going on a tropical holiday. I had learned by now not to ask questions; I think this was another one of his tests.
"You've progressed well, Gena." I was surprised at the compliment but considering how I did on the assassination game exercise, I felt that I had something to be proud of. "You managed to sneak into Sanjay's dorm and tap him while he slept in his room. That's difficult to do without an identity ring." Hideo knew all of this already, because Sanjay must have told him. You see, I thought I was picking someone out at random to target for assassination, but he was always a part of the game, and an assassin in training as well. I suspect that he didn't have nearly as good of a mentor as I had in India, nor that she knew about Sanjay specifically at all. Which made me start to wonder just how compartmentalized Hideo was in his operation, and whether that would come back to haunt me.
"I learned my lesson from last time. Instead of trying to convince someone to let me in, I waited until the doors were about to shut, and tossed a stick into them to keep them from sealing."
"Those doors are mechanized and would break an average stick."
"...it was a big stick," I smiled, and remembered the branch as thick as a baseball bat which I slid across the pavement into the door. To be honest, I missed on my first try, but I didn't want to remind Hideo of that. I remembered when I made my way to Sanjay's room. Oh, and to be sure it was the right room, I watched him go inside and waited to confirm that the same window light came on again as it did before; it did. And I remember when I did tap him on the shoulder, he jumped as though I were actually going to kill him…until he started chuckling, saying that I "busted my cherry", and that he should have guessed who I was on the transport. I did have to wear glasses for this exercise, though. Hideo insisted that in the interest of integrity that the exercise be video recorded.
"Well, Gena, sit," Hideo instructed, and once again pointed to the high backed leather chair opposite his. He sat back and chewed on something that resembled a stick of meat (of course, it couldn't be real meat) which smelled smoky and sweet. In between chewing, he passed me a folder (again made from actual paper) and waived at me to open it, which I did.
Inside was a dossier on someone whose name I thought that I had heard somewhere before...Emil Cooper-Smythe. The documents described him as a Summa Cum Laude graduate of The AT&T Imperial Academic Consortium, which meant that this guy was certainly fucking important. He was a Vice President of "acquisitional research and intellectual property leveraging", which sounded made up just to give someone important a job that sounded like it was, too. There were a bunch of charts and graphs afterward which suggested that he was starting to recognize that he was as useless as his title made him out to be, and so he started "extending his reach" beyond his role. In some rare cases, Hideo indicated, this made a mediocre career into a legacy, but more often than not, it meant you just painted a target on your back. Emil was the latter.
Emil looked like someone for whom a brisk walk to the bathroom might give him heart palpitations. He was, and there was no other way to describe him, obese. Again, a sign of wealth, but maybe it was some lingering bias or envy, but I always thought that this wasn't healthy. I mean, if it weren't for artery-purging medications and muscle reinforcing dietary supplements, he might really be in danger of dying just by way of vigorous sex...not that I was planning on killing him in this fashion. In fact, I hadn't had any plans at all; Hideo was sure to direct me for my breakout role in his newest production without my direct input.
"For this role," Hideo directed me to another photo, this one of a woman wearing a smart business suit in the color scheme of AT&T and accessories to fit the brand, "you will be undercover. My people have securely obtained access to the database so to grant a temporary window for you to walk into the AT&T Imperial campus and track down Cooper-Smythe. Isolate and terminate him as you see fit but do so discreetly and without leaving any identifiable evidence behind. And this will be the ring you will wear." He pulled out a small box from his pants pocket, lifted the lid of exposing the black satin lining inside, removed then handed me the ring. It was all I could do to stifle a laugh at what looked like a marriage proposal.
The identity ring looked like everyone else's; that was the point. Years ago, some dumb kids thought it would be funny to "swap" rings at a party one time. Long story short, they were all carted away for "identity theft", a very serious felony, and never seen or heard from again. So I knew that if I were to swap rings, I would have to be damned sure to remember which one was actually mine when all was said and done.
"Emil works all day, every day. He has drawn the attention of his superiors, which has led us here. He will be easy to find, as he is toiling tirelessly to undo the errors of his recent business failure."
"What was it?" I asked. I felt like the faintest degree of inquisitiveness wouldn't be begrudged by my boss.
"The failure?"
"Yeah. What did he do wrong...especially?"
"Cooper-Smythe," Hideo began with a drawn out sigh, "thought it would be a good idea to bounce subsonic waves off of each person's biochip instead of their phone earrings as the next new method of telecommunications."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Biochips are made from a delicate non-dissolvable semi-organic compound, which reacts poorly to the direct introduction of some bandwidths. After causing nearly a dozen sacrifices to explode at various points of their body, Emil understood the flaw in his reasoning all too well." I was horrified, and yet, chalk it up to a newfound sense of gallows humor, I couldn’t help myself at cracking a joke.
"Your spleen, close at hand." Even Hideo chuckled ever so slightly.
"India informs me that your martial arts and weapons training is also progressing well enough." It was true, or at least I damned well hoped it was if I was about to put what little I did know to the test. In the past couple of weeks, we had cram session after cram session—between school and what little sleep I was allowed—in which she would instruct me in the use of some truly medieval weaponry and unarmed combat. She held to the idea that modern weaponry—at least, the kind you would need at the moment of truth—was too subject to misfiring or being jammed by external means to be called reliable. She speculated that this was due to corporate control over arms and armaments. Governments required that they had the ability to neutralize any deadly weapon remotely at their discretion. She said that this had to do with some kind of "rights compromise" over “bearing arms”. When she waxed historical, I was reminded of Nancy. I wondered how she was faring in all of this.
"Yes," I confirmed. "India showed me some fancy moves to protect me and disable my enemy. She used some language that I didn't understand when she described them, though."
"Krav Maga," Hideo interjected. "It is...was Hebrew. The language of Judaism, before Judaism and other religions were officially outlawed. It is a tactical martial art, blended from many fighting styles from...parts of the world that are no longer recognized and would not mean anything to you." Hideo looked down, and for the first and only time in which I knew him, he looked genuinely sad.
"Well, whatever it is, I feel like I'm ready. I don't want to wait any longer, because my tuition is going to be due soon, and..."
"You won't have to," Hideo again interrupted. "Your mission is tonight."
***
I am so fucked. I am so fucked. I am so fucked. I kept telling myself this as I bolted through the hallways and corridors of the half mile-high skyscraper that was the AT&T Imperial corporate headquarters—the local branch, at least—with cacophonic alarms blaring, strobes flashing, and 2000 degree laser beams blasting past me and charring assorted corporate art on the walls. If I survive this, and that's a big if, Hideo's gonna kill me himself.
***
Getting into the building was the easy part. Hideo's contacts, the disguise, and the forged identity ring let me just walk through the automated security checkpoint without a hassle. I had my hair up in a perky bun, and my glasses were modeled after a fashionable "horn-rimmed" style that was making a comeback. I clutched a business-styled replica of a tablet under my breasts, which were accented by a push-up bra interwoven into the business suit. This outfit included a skirt with a slit up the side, and something the rich people like to wear called "hosiery". I'd say that no one batted an eye, but as I made my way through the palatial lobby—replete with animatronic fountains, light shows, and corporate advertising—I turned more than a few heads. Some extra padding in key areas helped. I couldn't shake the feeling that corporate uniforms were really just socially acceptable fetish wear.
Hideo's dossier made it clear where Emil's office was—at the third from the top floor. The elevator to take me there couldn't reach that height by itself; this was said to be due to "safety concerns" over the potential for a sudden drop but given that it went up fifty floors already anyway, this seemed unlikely. In truth, it was an engineering issue. Today's elevators didn't use ropes—metal or otherwise—but instead used magnets to propel a cart up and down. Sounds like this would actually make it easier to build an elevator that went all the way to the top, right. Well, this is where the "safety" factors in a bit. See, suppose something did cause an elevator to fail up high and start falling. The magnets are forced to try to slow the descent of the elevator cabin, but they may not stop it entirely. So the elevator slowly hits the bottom floor and, yes, there's some damage, but it could have been a lot worse. But what happens if an elevator up much higher builds up too much momentum for the magnetic forces to sufficiently slow it down. As the velocity increases, the cabin falls and the shaft is unable to compensate. And you end up with some serious damage. I asked India about this before heading out, and as always, she had an answer that made sense, even if I didn't know whether it was true or not. Suffice to say, I had to take five elevators to get to the top...well, to the third from the top.
With each elevator, the higher levels grew more and more dull...up until the last one. It turns out that just like walk up apartments, people who have to waste more time on the elevator are usually lower on the food chain. The exception to this are the top several floors, which are more opulent than any others. Why? The people who have their offices up there usually fly into work via aerial transportation, so they just go "down" from the rooftop parking. (Sucks to be their personal assistant's though, I guess.)
As the final elevator door opened, I looked out unto a realm bedecked with flora that might have come from a dinosaur movie. It was lush and vibrant, and unlike anything else I had ever seen outside of fiction. And the air quality was so invigorating that I started to get a little giddy, which didn't help my jitters. I literally had to pinch myself to try to shake myself out of this state. The floor didn't resemble a typical office at all; it looked more like some kind of virtual nature conservatory. Yet here, right in front of me, were real flowers and real fresh fruit. I had to resist every impulse to grab one of the shiny red fruits to bite into. I did let myself pass by some pretty pink and white flowers, which had an earthy but sweet smell. If I did die here, I would think that this was my reward for something I probably hadn't earned, but who cared at that moment?
Drones flew by overhead with a light gravitronic thrum, not that I knew how they were powered at that time. India told me to expect these and reminded me of the EMP pointer that she gave me...just in case. They moved quickly, and although their primary purpose was to relay physical data, they also served as armed security with high temperature lasers. My Krav Maga training wasn't going to help much with them if push came to shove.
I pulled up an augmented reality (AR) readout from the tablet, which pointed me to Emil's office. It was perched at the height of this little greenhouse, like he was some lord in a fantasy realm looking over all of his fantastical underlings and his dominion. A winding double staircase—inefficient, but appropriately ostentatious—lead up to the atrium. Walking in heels up these stairs was murder.
And now I had to do it. India insisted that I consider what my first three methods of assassination should be, in order, before even setting foot on the job. We talked about poison, but despite Emil being someone who eats a lot in public to show off his wealth, he probably wouldn't be eating much in private—either from stress or from just being stuffed throughout the rest of the day's business meetings. But on the off chance that he asked me to get him some "coffee" (which he could no doubt afford), I might have the opportunity anyway. FYI, "coffee" was something only the rich got to have due to the rarity of being able to cultivate it. Most of us had "StimTea" instead, which was, well, tea—which was always plentiful—modified with chicory, nutritional supplements, and flavoring to seem "like" coffee. Spoiler: it wasn't.
Second was a knife. After my training, India gifted me with a carbon-polymer steel tactical blade. It was sharp and ever so slightly curved and had a serrated component toward the base. The hilt was black and so was the handle, which was specifically formulated to my grip. I still had training to do with the knife, which India described as being the most important weapon in my arsenal that wasn't me, but also the trickiest to handle without hurting yourself.
Finally, the..."gun". (I had gotten over saying it a bit more than I had before.) The gun was something made of steel, with a "magazine" to "feed" bullets into the "chamber". (I had to learn a lot of terminology; it was like taking a whole new class in school.) Pressing the trigger fired the gun, and a bullet exited from the barrel, and ideally entered what I was trying to kill—in this case, Emil. The gun had a wider attachment that screwed onto the end of it, which was designed to muffle the sound of the gun. So, why not use the "point and kill" weapon? Well, part of the problem was that the "silencer" caused it to be somewhat prone to jamming and far less accurate—and it wasn't always reliably silent. Besides, ammunition and materials for maintaining Hideo's stock of them was scarce. He didn't go into details, but in short, since guns (like these) were outlawed, as well as the parts and equipment to make and service them, they were rarer than a unicorn's tears.
Emil's office didn't actually have any doors; instead, it looped around through an antechamber that was filled with framed awards and photos of Emil in action poses in the boardroom and other self-aggrandizing images. He was certainly very proud of himself. The idea of having no doors was apparently some corporate attitude of always being "open" to feedback from anyone who cared to enter. In practice, however, it was very different. Despite that, I walked right into his office.
The room was itself like the lobby of the building; it even had its own swimming pool with luxurious, tropical plants kept warm in heated isolation spaces. The room itself was a bit cool in temperature, however. At the far end of the roughly thirty meter in diameter workspace, Emil lounged on a desk that looked like it was made of solid mahogany wood; it probably was, which would cost as much as it would take to feed a small town for a year. He didn't notice me yet, but I was still too far away for a clean kill. Besides, I kind of relished going to the trouble to get dressed up in this costume for my big performance. I didn't want to spoil it too soon.
Dozens of AR readouts filled his workspace. He was chatting on and on, sometimes yelling, at assorted voices, giving directives about purchasing, about research, about fourth honeymoon plans, about so much that I thought that he might be schizophrenic. I later learned that power elite like Emil sometimes had a second voicebox and neural wiring implanted so that they could literally carry on two conversations at the same time to double productivity—and literally talk out of both sides of their face while doing it.
I approached Emil with the tablet, concealing my right hand, which was maneuvering within my padded suit and into the special sheathe for my knife. I opted for the knife despite considering the gun as a more reliable way of killing under the circumstances. I mean, I still hadn't overcome all of my deep-seated anxieties about guns. They were the kinds of things they taught you in school at an early age as being instrumental in nearly causing the downfall of our society long past. I told this to India, who didn't judge my conclusions, but she did add that the most important thing that an assassin must do is question everything, even things that we were taught to be absolutely true by those we trusted the most. Despite that, I went for the knife. I didn't even equip the gun with the silencer before coming inside, which ironically turned out to have been a decision that might have saved my life...or caused the problem I had in the first place...or both.
As I gripped the handle fitted to my hand, Emil looked up and into my eyes. "You're new here." It wasn't a question. "What's the status of the lunar advertising beacon in quadrant four?"
"Holding at sixty percent." I faked a smile as much as I faked that detail; I was not as clever as I thought. Emil had a panic stricken look in his eyes, but I was never going to be sure exactly why. Was it because of the lie, or that he knew who I was. Regardless, he turned red and pressed his bulging arms down on his desk to stand up with great effort. He was scrambling, and I realized that it was now or never. I unsheathed the knife, and the rotund man let out a squeal so high pitched, that it was all I could do not to grab for my ears. This was something no one had anticipated, and I certainly didn't realize it at the time, but the "squeal" was actually a signal for the security drones to deploy...as much as it must have been out of fear.
I lunged with my dagger straight for his heart, but in his desperate attempt to flee, he tripped over a small table on the floor—really just for decoration—which flopped upward under his girth. Owing to some preternatural level of luck on Emil’s part, it smacked me in my right shoulder, and the force of the impact made me drop the knife. He picked his corpulent body up and started frantically racing around his office pell-mell.
I had two choices. Either I could spend time trying to retrieve the knife that went sliding across the over-slick floor—the same one that no doubt made Emil to trip and fall—or I could try my luck with something else, be it my bare hands or...the gun. I knew that Emil's sheer size would make it difficult to engage him directly in hand-to-hand combat. I was sure that he had no skill at martial arts or anything like it. Frankly, concepts of self-defense just didn't exist in our society. Regardless, he would probably fight to stay alive, and with his reach, his mass, and the amount of time it would take—more than I had, I was sure—I opted for (what Nancy once referred to as) the "great equalizer".
I pulled the gun from behind my back and aimed. I took a deep breath as India instructed, squeezed, and exhaled. My shot did not miss; rather in one single bullet, the squeals stopped, and Emil crashed into the window that he was careening toward in his fear. I watched the window shatter into a million shards and I was stunned as he passed through it and fell. I had no need to confirm the kill.
What surprised me about the window was that all of the windows that I had ever known were made out of fiberglass, and surely would have resisted such an impact, even from someone of such a size as Emil. I later learned that these palatial offices would often indulge in luxuries like real glass windows. They did produce a much clearer window through which to look down upon the world from on high, but they had one obvious drawback which Emil just discovered.
I had no time to ponder this further as that same gravitronic thrum grew louder and louder, alongside a wave of obnoxious sonic weaponry and strobe effects. These were designed to slow and disable any intruders and make them easier pickings for the lasers. I couldn't stay, and my exit plan was blown. There was no walking out now. I bolted toward the opposite entrance to the office from which I came in, picking up my knife in one swift movement. My heart was beating a thousand beats a second, but India had ingrained that one important message over all others: breathe. In spite of the circumstances, I did just that, and I felt myself overcoming the sound, the lights, the fear. Clarity was a hell of a drug.
As I put my head out of the entrance, I saw a blast of concentrated light melt a statue of a...well, I'm not sure what it was, but it was melted goo a split second later; I was grateful it took the hit for me. I ducked back and retrieved my EMP pointer. I considered trying to shoot at the drones, but I had no idea what kind of defenses they might have. Truthfully, "bulletproofing" something was irrelevant these days mostly for the reasons I've mentioned about the apparent rarity of guns, but given that security drones like these were clearly prepared for an assault, I couldn't be too sure.
I kicked over the display pedestal of the meaningless artwork, which prompted yet another burst from the drone...just a narrow enough window for me to whip around and fire the EMP at it. Success, and then some. Not only did the thing explode (I had to duck back for cover again), but the shrapnel disoriented another drone approaching, which in turn whipped around so fast, that its laser cut a couple of others in half. A chain reaction can be a beautiful thing.
Unfortunately, the laser also cut down some support beams, and I literally felt the ground giving way beneath me. I raced down the winding...obnoxiously fucking irrelevant staircase and dove just before it crashed under me into a plumb of debris. I had no time to stop as the few drones I did manage to eliminate were just the vanguard. The thrum grew, and more came forth from ventilation shafts in the ceiling and the walls like hungry arachnids in some horror VR sim.
I knew that the elevator was a fool's errand, what with being chased by killer robots and all. Still, I was unsure where the stairs were. There was no requirement for them to be marked for safety. It was considered "gauche" to have glaring safety signs interfering with the aesthetic, it would seem. That kind of screwed me right now. This definitely qualified as an "emergency".
I dodged around a hidden corner in the atrium, which I only spotted out of the corner of my eye thanks to where some leaves were blowing in the wind—artificial no doubt. Concealed behind a feathery curtain was a stairwell. Thank you! I bolted up the stairs three at a time, and controlled breathing or not, this was exhausting. I heard the drones hovering upward, which only made me realize that I had to hustle faster than ever as they definitely had the advantage in here.
Eventually, I made my way to the rooftop service door, which was (of course) locked by an electronic mechanism. Thankfully, the EMP pointer had recharged, and I made liberal use of it on the door. And with a swift kick, the door flew open onto the entirely too windy rooftop. I knew what came next would also have to be done with the utmost of speed. Thankfully, India gave me one very important last trick to use.
***
India and I sat on the roof of my university dormitory just after a final debriefing and training session. We were covered in sweat but feeling invigorated. I'll be honest; I was beginning to relish this more than sex. Exercise wasn't something poor people like me had the luxury of doing. After all, we never felt like it was worth burning off the few calories we were allotted, but I see why people did it. India had been keeping a small satchel off to the side on the roof since she arrived, and she handed it to me as we recovered.
"It's insurance." I wasn't familiar with the word, but India explained that it was like a contingency in case something went wrong. I opened the satchel and inside was a kind of janitorial uniform. I unfolded it and noticed that it had several buttons and small magnets interlaced within the fabric at key places. The legs and arms of the jumpsuit could be rolled up and bunched up to make it appear less conspicuous. But the most interesting detail was that on the inside, it could be reversed to resemble a padded business suit.
"Wow...what do I do with this?" I stupidly asked.
"Think of it like 'camouflage'. It will help you blend into your environment. But also, you can reverse the outfit to change who you are pretending to be. One minute, you are a personal assistant. The next, you are a janitor. The same is true for the heels." She held out a pair of black stiletto heels that pained me just to look at them. She depressed a small button on the backs of each, and they dropped down faux boot heels to make them look like completely different footwear. It even activated a heat-based resin inside that made them appear scuffed and dirty.
"Riches to rags, huh?" I smirked, and India followed suit.
***
I took off my outfit, leaving me bare chested and in my skimpy panties on this freezing fucking roof. India did show me how to quickly disrobe in one quick motion, and like draping a cape over my body, allow the magnets embedded into the outfit to begin attaching themselves again and complete the transformation. The outfit along my left leg was still bunched up, so I looked like a janitor with a fondness for elegant stockings, showing off my gams. I hurriedly yanked the leg down to conceal the legwear and walked around to one of the fashionable air cars parked on the roof within a wind-resistant enclosure. I grabbed a rag and started wiping it clean, trying to be as disinterested and occupied in the task as possible. My hope was that the drones wouldn't identify me as the assassin.
The flying death machines floated upward and over the rooftops, scanning away. One approached me and scrutinized me at close range. By this point, I had smeared some polish on my face, and tussled my hair beneath a worker's cap. As it turned out, the drones operated on sight recognition, and my disguise was sufficient to complete the ruse. After the drone took off, I returned to wiping down the air car for a couple more minutes before quietly making my way back through the building, floor by floor, elevator by elevator, all the way down and out of the chaos. No one ever pays attention to a janitor, India told me. She was right, and I was alive for it. And, I hoped that I was not going to be punished by Hideo for the screw up...but still get paid, which was kind of the whole point. Money...the things we do for it.
Chapter 6
The arrangement Hideo and I had was this. For each job I completed, I was paid enough money to cover me for another semester. I also received some "walking around money" to pay for incidentals, but only a little, since Hideo made it clear that he didn't want to draw attention to how I was suddenly coming into all these riches. He said that after I became more experienced, that I would be able to perform more hits, but he was throttling my performance for now. To be honest, after the shit show with Emil, I was a little relieved.
The funny thing was that Hideo wasn't mad...not even perturbed about it. He explained that despite appearances, Emil Cooper-Smythe was not a well-liked VP, and he was pretty arrogant about his security. The drones were his, yes, but he really didn't know anything about how they detected intruders. Hideo was aware of the security measures in place, down to the finest detail. I knew better than to ask, but Hideo must have been a mind reader, because he explained what I was wondering about anyway, as I sat in his office beyond the black-lit bar and beyond the pharmacy front where I relinquished my gun and knife. Funny, but I felt a little naked without them right now.
"The reason I didn't tell you about the drones," Hideo began as he paced the room, wearing a cloth shirt tied at the waist, with a kind of ridged blue skirt over his legs. "The reason was that I needed to see for myself how resourceful you really were." He slowly paced in his wooden sandals that elevated his height by a couple of inches which I couldn't believe were comfortable at all. "It wouldn't be enough for me to give you everything you needed to complete your mission. Otherwise, you would fail at the moment when this was lacking. I don't want an automaton to do my work; I want someone who can follow orders and adapt to the situation as needed. Critical thinking is what separates you from a drone. If you didn't have that, you would be of no use to me. And you would have died anyway."
I was mad, okay. He just told me that he withheld key information that could have gotten me killed just to prove a point, and maybe even get out of paying me. So when I got up and kicked over his fancy-schmancy high-backed leather chair and shouted some very colorful profanities at my new boss, I thought this would be my last job, one way or another. Instead, he was on me in a flash, and tried to throw my body to the ground, almost exactly as India had done before. What surprised me—and maybe even Hideo—was that I rolled out of the throw, and—to this day, I'm never sure if he let me do this, or if I surprised him right back—I threw him to the ground. He smiled.
"You have spirit, like a dragon. Good. I would like to extend you an invitation to be one of my contract players. Do you accept?" I laughed, which meant "yes".
***
Nancy and I shared a bowl of homemade popcorn pasta in her dormitory cell while we talked about our respective missions. We were so excited, we were giggling and recalling each detail with glee at our respective successes. We kept hushed voices, but there were often interjections and exclamations of "no way" or "you're kidding", each of us doubting the other's story. But it was true. We both survived a life-or-death situation. We both proved our mettle and were forged stronger for it. We were up and coming stars in the assassination circuit, and we bonded over this even more.
Nancy told me that her training was harder going than mine. She injured herself a little early on in her training. She complained that her mentor was impatient with her, but despite this, he was "fair"...at least, that's how she put it. His name was Goram, and she told me that he was a large man with bulging muscles. I was a little annoyed to see a glimmer of arousal in her expression as she described his hairless, statuesque body, with nary an ounce of body fat on it, like some kind of "Adonis", whatever that was. He was teaching her martial arts as well—something she called "Tae Kwon Do" and "Systema"—but he wanted her to also be familiar with various weapons, including razor wire. Nancy explained that she didn't correctly wind the wire in such a way to prevent injury, so she cut herself, which kept her from completing her mission before me. She also said that she was given a gun and a knife. "Standard issue," Goram told her.
"Toby's going to tell my family back home that I've been granted an internship. Hideo hired him because of his skill at forgery and other things, so producing the docu-data to support this is right in his wheelhouse." I know that Nancy didn't intentionally use words I didn't know—seriously, what the fuck is a "wheelhouse"—but it bugged me more than I would like to admit. "He's even offered to do the same for you. I think he has a crush on you." Nancy giggled; I retched. But the sad truth was that I didn't have a plan for how I was going to explain why I was now able to pay for the next semester. Even my parents wouldn't believe that I had suddenly stepped up to become a dedicated academic savant. Even a "scholarship" sounded like a stretch, but it was better than nothing. And no amount of working a side job—be it in waste disposal (which was my cover job) or something else—would convincingly finance another year. Those kind of jobs were for kids whose parents insisted that they develop a "work ethic", which usually meant that they did something to piss off their parents back home in the first place. But some detail about Nancy's cover story nagged at the back of my mind.
"Wait...what happens when someone comes checking to see that you're actually in a real internship?"
"Well, that's the best part! You see, Toby is a kind of 'liaison', Goram said. Apparently, Hideo and GE University have some kind of 'non-hostility agreement'...off the radar, of course. So he has contacts here that can generate the 'appearance' of an internship for all intents and purposes, while Toby fabricates the evidence. Simple, huh?" It did sound like they had all of the angles figured out. I just couldn't figure out how such an arrangement came into being in the first place. Nancy and Toby came from a rural backwater in Montana, so I had to wonder just how Toby and Hideo ever met in the first place. Maybe I was overthinking things. I was still really excited about everything that had changed for Nancy and me. We weren't going to have to separate, and we were going to continue on our academic careers toward a brighter future for ourselves and our families. So what if we had to get a little "dirty" to get there. Objective morality was an outmoded concept, as extinct as birds and dinosaurs. We had our whole lives ahead of ourselves. What could go wrong?
***
"What do you mean 'expelled'?!" I didn’t even realize that I was shouting. My mother's tearful voice on the other end of the phone call had just dropped a shockwave on me that felt like she just said that aliens had invaded (even the microscopic ones discovered decades ago). "Aiden? Expelled?! No way."
"It's true," Nadia mewled. "He hit someone in school! It's over, it's all over..." I was shocked. Violence in schools was a felony and that extended to any kind of unwanted contact. Expulsion was a slap on the wrist. He might have gone to jail. "He's been so removed lately. He wouldn't talk to your father or me, and he has been out at all hours every night. Every time I say your name, he starts screaming!" Oh fuck. I should have seen this coming.
Aiden was smart...too smart. Much smarter than me, yes. And he deserved better. Instead he got cheated when Mom and Dad picked me to go to school. I would call them every week or so to check in. It was always the same. "How's school? How are your grades? Did that nice teacher ever get back to you about that tuition assistance program?" All I could tell her was "Okay. Okay. Not yet." I know she was proud of me, and I know she shared my progress reports with my father and Aiden. But Aiden wasn't stupid. He knew what I was doing...I mean, not the assassination stuff, no way, but that I was essentially blowing the scholarship...something he would surely have found a way to make better use of, if only he had the chance.
Something we both had in common: our intense personalities. We were both a bit bold, which got me plenty of dates in school. (Everybody wants to be with the wild one, admit it.) But Aiden always seemed to be able to channel that into his studies. If he was feeling frustrated about something, he would turn inward, yes, but would also use that to further his education, and emerge with some newfound skill to show me. He always wanted to prove that he was "good enough". Shit, Aiden. You never had to prove anything to me.
And now, he hates my fucking guts. And he's no longer turning it inward, he's letting it all come out. And I was a hypocrite, just like everyone else. Just imagine: he socks some mouthy punk in school or something and he gets expelled, while I just blew some VP's brains all over his penthouse office floor and got paid. Seems fair, right?
"Where is he?" I asked, trying to quell the tightening knot in my stomach. Getting any more upset would only make things harder for Mom.
"He's in his room, doing something with the computer. He's been playing really loud music. I've asked him to turn it down. A noise complaint would register as a negative occurrence on our corporate profiles, and we're struggling to get by as it is."
"Okay. Just...don't panic. We'll figure something out." My words echoed off of the walls of my dormitory cell and felt just as hollow as I did inside right now. "Call me if there's anything I can do, or if anything changes, okay?"
"Okay, Gena. I'm so sorry to burden you with this. You've been studying so hard and doing such good work at the school. An internship! How wonderful! I'm so proud of you." Hearing that your mother is "proud of you" when you know you're up to no good is like having someone use a peeler on your heart. But the absolute last thing she needed was more grief, and I was willing to sacrifice a little of my self-worth to lift her spirits.
"Thank you, Momma. It's all because of my best friend, Nancy. She recommended me for the internship. It was a real blessing." It wasn't. When you don't have any other plans of your own, you take what's available. And what bugged me now was that I was indebted to Toby Monroe. I mean, I couldn't pin down why I didn't like the guy, but you just get that vibe from some people...people you know are using you, even if you are getting something out of it yourself.
"Knowing that you've pulled yourself up out of all of the bad situations you got into when you were younger gives me hope for Aiden. I used to be so afraid that you would be adrift without a future, but I never used to feel that way about your brother. Now it feels like everything's been turned around. I want you to know that I am so happy that you've grown up so much. I want to believe that Aiden will, too, even if this is going to be something he's going to have to live with for the rest of his life. Keep making us proud, darling." I felt like I was going to cry and be sick with guilt all at once.
"Okay, Momma," I choked. "Okay. Listen, I gotta go. Nancy's coming over to study." I lied to my mother again...not for the first time, not for the last.
"Oh, okay, dear. Work hard and may fortune smile on you. I love you!" I love you, too.
***
India told me that I shouldn't blame myself...everybody says that. But she added that each person is responsible for doing what they can to keep the poison of envy out of their hearts. I told her about my concerns about Aiden in the middle of our sparring match. She knew right away in a way that no one else could that I was deeply sad about it all. She put her hand on my shoulder; she was not a hugger. But her words helped to clear the fog around my mind anyway.
"Did you know that I cry every time I take a life?" India asked. She never told me that before, and I shook my own tearful head back and forth. "I balled my eyes out on my first assignment. I was twelve. I was alone. I only had a box cutter and a stained cloth dress. I loved life and I was so happy to be alive. Hideo told me that this was good, and that I should never forget it. But that there were people who wanted such a light as mine, as he put it, to be extinguished. Hideo said that people who are not filled with the light of life will always be submissive, will always follow a path of darkness. They will always just accept something for what it is because they live in darkness. They no longer have the light to see all of the splendor that is all around them, or the messes that need cleaning up to make their world beautiful. I believed him, and for a time, I saw people change." She paused here and she had this distant look in her eyes...searching for something, but I didn't know what.
"Things have become complicated," she continued. "But always know that if you look for the light, even if you have lost your way, you will be better off than if you never tried at all." I trusted India, but for the only time I ever knew her, I felt that in this last platitude, so unlike her, she held something back.
India became more than my mentor; she was my friend. She helped me occupy a mental state in my missions that I never knew existed. Fear became a distant thing as time went on, as my missions with Hideo progressed. My skills sharpened, yes, but my mind more so. I trusted her in a way that, despite everything, I didn't trust Nancy with. Yes, I told Nancy about Aiden, and she genuinely was distraught to hear it. She cried too. And don't get me wrong; it wasn't like I didn't trust Nancy. It's just that I never, ever felt like India wasn't going to be straight with me. Sure, she had her secrets, her past, but didn't we all?
***
The next semester came and went like lightning, and I performed two jobs for Hideo. Very different ones that went much more smoothly than my first. I infiltrated the Unilever Regency Corps compound in Europe—yay, international travel—and slit the throat of the VP for "hydroponic exfoliating market distribution" while she was snuggled up with her two boy toys in her ski chalet. (They're fine, by the way...physically, anyway. I chloroformed them, but I’m sure that they had a real rude awakening.) I also fought off a trio of rather inept bodyguards protecting a Vice Senator from Rhode Island, who thought it would be a good idea to introduce calories derived from recycled organs into the drinking supply for his state. Aside from the raw gross out factor, what really incurred the ire of his masters was that he planned to share such a discovery with the population at large. I guess it must have offended someone's delicate sensibilities for anyone other than the power elite to have a more socially desirable body than they did. So, off went his head. Not literally, though. I mean, India taught me how to snap a neck in one motion (imagine turning a giant bottle cap). It's more trouble than it's worth to actually decapitate someone. There's the mess, and...it's just not worth the hassle.
***
Aiden left. Mom called me in one of an increasingly frequent number of frantic, tearful calls, telling me that she came home one day to find his room in our apartment in disarray. He took his computer, but all of his childhood toys and other bits of nostalgia were left behind and deliberately destroyed or defaced.
There was no getting around it. Aiden was gone. No last message, no goodbye. Our hearts were broken. The little boy who I grew up with was as good as dead...at least, that's what the old me would have thought, just like Mom and Dad did. I knew that there was a whole underground world at work now, and I was certain that Aiden would find his way, whether he liked it or not, into that world of shadows...the one in which I now dwelt, walking the line between them. But I couldn't tell her. I wonder if it would have made any difference.
***
Toby would take Nancy and I out for "dinners" at semi-formal establishments. He said it was to get a “pulse check” on our performance. Hideo surely must have warned him not to make too big of a show, and for that one thing, I was grateful. Toby always paid. I reached for the bill the first time this happened, and he touched my hand in such a way that when he grabbed for it, I felt my skin crawl. He also always dropped off Nancy at her dormitory first, and lingered in the car before departing toward mine, trying to make small talk. Tonight was one such night, and my patience was dwindling in inverse proportion to his rising courage to make a move with me. I could smell it on him.
"You do know that I've always liked you, Gena. You do know that, right?" The smell of synthetic Merlot wafting off of his breath—his tongue practically wagging out of his mouth—made me feel like I was swimming in it. And I used to like Merlot.
"You keep making that clear, Monroe." Now I know why Hideo always called him that, and in that way...even if it was for different reasons. I didn’t want any level of familiarity between us.
"That's right. Why hide who we are? Why pretend that we are just the clothes that we wear or the jobs that we do. We're living, breathing, human beings. We all have the same hot blood pumping through our veins. We all want pleasure and happiness. Why hold that back?" He liked to ask rhetorical questions. The idea was that it kept someone's attention, forced them into the conversation. I had a feeling that Toby liked to get things by force when he could get away with it.
"I'm not hiding anything," I sneered. I probably shouldn't have answered at all.
"Oh, but you are, Gena. You are." He leaned in. "We all are, and we have to for the public. You've learned how dangerous this world is. You understood that when I extended my invitation to Nancy on to you as well. Nancy is a sweet girl. Pretty. She's family. But Gena, we're like family, you and I. We've become so much closer since we started working together."
"You're my cover story for my job with Hideo, Monroe. Nothing more. Are we clear?" He leaned back, but his smirk widened. I wondered why.
"Do you know what my job is? No, not for Hideo. My real job, if you prefer that word?" The expected dramatic, inebriated pause. "I'm a recruiter. I find talent. It's what I do. I see what others overlook. I see greatness, and when I see greatness, I direct it to its intended purpose. Ask yourself, Gena...really ask yourself where you would be if I hadn't seen your talent for what it is."
"And just what is my talent, since you're going to tell me whether I like it or not?"
"You're smarter than you think." He paused, and damn it, I listened. "You have this idea that everyone else around you is smarter than you, that you don't deserve the things you have, your opportunities." Toby leaned back in. "But I know different. Strength alone doesn't succeed in our line of work. You can be strong, you can be quick, you can be as powerful as anyone else. But it comes down to intelligence. That decides who lives and dies. And you're very much alive to me, Gena." He kissed me while I was still mentally processing what he said. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and his hands maneuvered over my breasts with a speed that I didn't think he had in him, to be honest. It wasn't until he started tearing open my blouse that I shook off my stupefaction and my newfound instincts kicked in. I shoved him back into the driver's side of his hover car. Hard. His driver's side door opened up from the impact, spilling him out onto the pavement, his obnoxious nose smashing into the pavement. I heard him cursing me pretty foully as I exited his little rape trap and stepped onto the street.
"I've got a question for you. You like questions, right?" I asked (rhetorically) as I walked around to the other side of the car, my heels clicking angrily against the pavement. "You know why I don't kill you right fucking now, Monroe?! Do you?! Because you know that I can. You saw that talent in me, remember?!" He grabbed his nose, blood dripping out from it, and glared at me. Also, very hard. He didn't answer. "Because no matter what you seem to think, you are not the boss of me! We work together. We have to, even if I don't have to like it. I came on this little dinner party because your niece is my best friend, and for whatever fucking reason that she has that I don't know about it, she trusts you. So I play along. You want to know why I pretend, as you put it? It's because I want happiness! Don’t you get it?! I don’t like you! But I'll work with you because I want the people who I do like to be happy. And that includes Nancy...and that's why I'm not going to tell her about this little...incident." In spite of it all, I extended a hand to pick him up off of the ground. The little goblin refused and spit blood onto the street, and muttered some offensive commentary about my genitalia. Fine...sulk, you little goblin.
I looked him in the eyes, and I didn't feel any fear. Yet in this moment I'm in right now, when I look back and think of this confrontation, I wish I ended him right then and there. I don't know if it would have mattered. Memories are rich with regret, and this was no exception. I stared at him, no longer out of hatred, or even pity. Just a sense of confidence that I really didn't need to be afraid of him. I guess it was also part arrogance then. I should have been afraid of Toby Monroe. Very afraid.
"...I'll walk home." I turned and left him clutching his bloodied nose and went back to my dorm.
Chapter 7
My heart wasn't in it anymore. It wasn't burnout, and it wasn't guilt; I was reminded that I was expendable...that everything else Hideo said about my importance to his mission wasn't really true. I suppose I started to respect him, even if I didn't like him all that much. The same could not be said for all of his staff.
I was starting my third semester...only one more to go after that, and I had been busy. The education required for the kind of work I was pursuing usually didn't last longer than two years. Beyond that, you were just killing time, and probably weren't good enough to get hired to work in their company in the first place. The competition was fierce. We no longer worked in teams, but independently. We weren't doing as much hands-on project work but studying protocol for our behavior at work and away from it. See, businesses would monitor the online activity of its employees to ensure that they represented only the finest examples of the experience that they sold to the public. That meant that if someone on the street glared at you, you could take an image of them with your pocket tablet and report them to their employer, and they would almost certainly be punished for it. It's funny, but I used to think of this as a good thing. I mean, everybody is accountable to perform in society in a way that befits a productive member of it in accordance to the holy precepts of The Platinum Rule, which was as close to what passed as "religion" nowadays.
But I started to think about why The Platinum Rule only seemed to be something which people like myself or my parents were accountable for following. Why was it that the kind of assholes that I was sent to kill were exempt from it? Why is it that they got to live in grandiose palaces, drive flying automobiles with recliner seats? Why they got to eat exotic foods made from food stuffs I didn't even think existed anymore, like oranges?! I chalked it up to resentment at first and adjusted my prescription doses to compensate. But eventually, I started to think that there was a very real reason for why I felt this way. I mean, I had actually seen with my own eyes how the power elite lived...and I was pretty mad that it was always being dangled in front of us servants of the world, even though almost none of us would ever get even close to living such a lifestyle. Despite my reasons for coming to GE University in the first place, I found that I didn't care about it anymore...but now thanks to a completely new, unexpected reason.
I brought this up to Nancy once, carefully. And what she said surprised me. She said, "I know." I expected that she was going to call me crazy or try to talk me out of my decision to stop taking most of my medications. I mean, I took the vitamins and vaccines, but I stopped the mood stabilizers entirely. I was worried that I might be going crazy, but she comforted me as only a real friend can. I had grown much more comfortable with our platonic relationship as of late. I stopped fantasizing about it becoming something more and stopped letting my lonely heart steer where my head should instead. It was nice to be close to someone and feel a deeper, emotional connection that wasn't dominated by sexual desire. One more thing India taught me about life.
"Listen," Nancy started, as she rested her hand on my shoulder. "I haven't had any medications." I waited for the end of that sentence, but it didn't come. And then I laughed because I thought she was joking. She wasn't. “No vitamin shots, vaccines, or anything. It’s okay. I haven’t keeled over dead or anything.” I stopped laughing. I wasn’t even able to process how someone could not be a raging mess of disease or not be completely malnourished without those things in our society. In time, I would learn.
"I have to tell you something," Nancy continued, her face more serious than I had ever seen it. "But you have to promise that you won't tell anyone, and I mean anyone, especially Uncle Toby. Agreed?" There was no way I was ever going to say more than two words to her uncle ever again, and if I did, they would rhyme with "truck" and "do".
"Yeah, Nancy. I promise." She took in a deep breath and told me who she really was.
"Uncle Toby and I come from Montana. You knew that, I know. But can you name one town in Montana? Or one company based out of it?" I couldn't, but then again, I never claimed to be a geography expert. "It's because we...lived off the grid." ...What? My best friend was a..."Freeman"? She continued: "We moved out there eleven years ago, but Toby didn’t stay that long. He said that he wanted to be a 'scout' for our community. To see what changes in the world might have an impact on ours. Daddy was against it. So was Toby’s wife, Agatha, but he was insistent. Honestly, Toby was always the most likely to leave our community and return to the industrialized world anyway, so Daddy ultimately agreed. We didn't see or hear from him for over a year. Then he came back...he traveled by way of the abandoned highway system...did you know about those? Anyway, one day he came back and said that he had established himself as a university recruiter here, and that this would give him ample opportunity to learn about the world and pass that knowledge back to us through secure means."
I listened to Nancy's story, and struggled to think of anyone who could find Toby affable enough to hire him or marry him in the first place. But then, Hideo did, and so did Nancy's Aunt Agatha…respectively.
"Toby would make the pilgrimage back home to Montana every year or so, and he would always check in on me, saying how much I had grown. A couple of years ago, he asked me if I was interested in college, although he would do this out of earshot of my dad. He knew that my dad was more conservative about returning to the world you grew up in...something I didn't understand back then. So when Uncle Toby told me that he had an opportunity to get me into GE University for a "trial run", to see if I liked it, I couldn't say no. I regret that I snuck out to do it, and boy, was my daddy mad about that! I think that his sister...y'know, Aunt Agatha, calmed him down a bit. After all, the die was cast, so what could be done about it, right?" Nancy gave a somewhat uneasy smile, then her gaze fell upon the floor.
"Daddy doesn't know."
"Doesn't know what?" I stupidly asked. I mean, seriously Gena, what else would she be talking about?
"About my 'other life'...I mean, how can you tell your daddy that you do something like this, when he tells you all the time growing up about why killing is wrong. But I mean, people kill animals for food, so..." She gasped and put both of her hands to her mouth. Wait...what did she mean by "animals"? Weren't they all basically extinct?
"Nancy, what's going on?" I felt like layers and layers of reality were constantly melting away. Was I going crazy?
"Okay. Shoot...I guess I really am bad with secrets." She sighed. "So, you know how basically everyone accepts certain things to be true because everybody says so. Well, that all depends on how you define 'everybody'. That's what I believe, and so does the rest of my clan…our community. We're about twenty strong out on the fringes of the Montana wilds. It all started with my family and a few likeminded others who started to have real doubts about whether what we were being told about the world was true or not. He found something while working on the air car of some rich VP, tossed under the seat like it was some kind of novelty. It was a book. Yeah, he didn't know what to make of it, either, since he thought that books were supposed to be wasteful uses of depleted resources and all. But there it was staring him in the face. It was titled "Audubon Field Guide", or something like that.
"My daddy flipped through it. No one could see him working on the car from inside, so he felt safe. He thought that it was some kind of fiction or so. But there were page markings and dates...current dates. Like someone had been using this book recently. And that's when he began to wonder about whether birds were really extinct, just because we’d never see any in the cities. Little by little, he started gathering more and more clues, about that and other inconsistencies. And then he was approached by someone we already know." I knew who she was going to say.
"Hideo," Nancy continued, "told my father that everything he believed in was a lie. I mean, the lie that everyone tells you to believe, so that everyone can feel secure at night. But really, Gena, the whole point is that no one feels secure. We all scramble to make something of ourselves, but we're spinning our wheels. We never get anywhere because the game is fixed. And Hideo showed us that we were right. That there was a whole world out there, waiting to be rediscovered. We just had to be brave enough to leave the comforts of our proverbial caves.
"Not all of us were wanting to go, to abandon what we knew of civilization. My Uncle Toby used to fight with my daddy in long arguments about it. But his wife didn't want to be without her family, so Toby eventually yielded to it. It's funny, but I think that Uncle Toby found something in Hideo's moving words of 'revolution' that stirred something within him. He started spending more and more time with Hideo, and before long he became his right-hand man. It took a while for me to adjust, but what surprised me was that despite everything we always heard about the Freemen being criminals and terrorists, we weren't though. I mean, I guess you could call Hideo that from that standpoint. Honestly, I never actually met him until last year when you did. I only heard about him through Toby and occasionally my dad. Toby talked about him a lot. I think that he really wanted me to meet him."
Nancy and I sat among our empty dinner bowls on the floor, our legs crossed, just talking with one another for the rest of the night. She told me so much about her life in Montana. I was afraid. I was unnerved. But I wasn't mad that she kept this from me. No, as it turned out, I would cherish this night for as long as I lived. A moment of peace and camaraderie. A calm before the storm.
I have recently come to understand that the world I live in is full of so much more than I ever could have imagined. And I never would have learned about it if it weren't for the people I met. Except...it just seemed...wrong somehow that the way that I learned it was through killing. Not that I was remorseful or anything, it's just...it felt like it didn't quite make sense. If Hideo was supposed to be some kind of "revolutionary", what was he doing taking jobs like these. It all felt like he was just a part of the machine, too. Wasn't what Nancy and her "clan" were trying to do supposed to be something "outside" of this world? At what point do you stop being used?
***
"I thought you should hear it from me first," Hideo began, pointing as always toward that (now slightly dented) high-backed leather chair, indicating that I should sit down. "To be clear, I am not a man of apologies." He sat opposite of me, wearing a tactical vest and dark pants with pockets on the sides. He looked ready for a mission himself. He leaned in. " I am also not someone who explains himself to others unless it furthers my mission. So when I tell you what I am about to tell you, understand that it does not come from the heart but from the head. Do we understand each other?" I nodded and felt a chill run down my spine. "Do you understand why Monroe recruits for me?"
"No." I answered honestly. I didn't know if Hideo knew about what Toby tried on me, or even if he cared.
"I will explain to you. My operation requires someone who can identify an aptitude for assassination, but not allow personal sentiment to cloud their decisions to invite one into our fold. It is something that I discovered with your mentor. She filled the role Toby now has. But she disobeyed me. She is my greatest assassin, but she would not recruit someone who I picked out as a candidate. She believed that it was 'wrong' to pull that person from their life of lies. She believed that the person would end up only suffering more if she were taken from her delusion. We disagreed; I 'demoted' India and found a more...compliant tool in Monroe." Hideo paused and stared into my eyes with an intensity that burned. "You do not like Monroe." It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.
"...No," I choked out. "No, I don't."
"Your job doesn't require that you like him. Your job does require that you accept his judgment. Are we clear?" Dread was washing over me like acid rain. Everything was screaming on the inside. But the real screaming was coming up in mere moments...along with my lunch. Hideo handed me a dossier, not marked like those he used for a target; this was blank. When I opened it, my heart died.
"Toby has been scouting your brother for over half of a year. He has swallowed the button and joined our cause." Noise emerged from my mouth...and bile. I flailed around the room, grief-stricken. The young boy I knew and loved for all of my childhood, the brother who I always hoped would have a better life than I had was now a part of my grim world...my dirty secret. And there was no way that he wasn't going to know that I was a part of it as well.
Those pictures of Hideo's newest recruit still haunted me. He looked so different than I remembered. His head—his eyebrows—were shaved off, and he had strange tattoos and piercings all over his body. And that sinister smirk in his photo—which resembled a mugshot more than anything—told me that his well of fucks to give had officially run dry.
Hideo sat there, watching me flail around his lair like I remembered watching Emil doing a year ago. I think that he was ready in case I became violent toward him, although he didn't show it. I smashed those stupid bottles of booze. I tore down the pictures on his wall. I screamed and screamed...and no one came running...why?
After what felt like forever, I ran out of steam. I collapsed onto the floor, now covered with a vile mix of booze, puke, and blood—I cut my hand on one of the bottles, and only just noticed it. Hideo sat there, not with a look of comfort or sympathy, no. That wouldn't do for a cult of personality like him. He was a statue and might have remained one for all the good it did. He stood up and walked toward a small closet. He opened the door, and pulled out a mop and a bucket, a broom and a dustpan. He dropped them at my feet, looked down on me, and said, "You will have this cleaned up within one hour." He left the room. And I obeyed...I fucking obeyed.
***
I didn't want to breathe anymore. I told India this—and all that it implied—during our most recent training session on the roof. The weather had grown hotter, so the humidity did little to convince me that breathing was something that was even worth the effort anymore. India sat down beside me and held me, for the first time ever. I cried.
"This is my fault," she said.
"No...no, it's those assholes, Toby and Hideo's fault."
"No. It is my fault. I will explain." She sighed just enough to insinuate that she was working up the nerve to tell me something. "Surely Hideo told you about what my job was before becoming your mentor, yes? I know him too well to think otherwise. He must have told you that I disobeyed his order to recruit a promising young candidate." A pregnant pause. "It was you."
"...You didn't tell me?"
"No...and looking back, I feel badly that I didn't. We never recruited so young before Monroe came along. Hideo was different then. He believed that the only effective way to make a change was if you believed in something. He believed that he could make a difference by only bringing into his group people who already figured out that the world we live in is a lie. But that lie is a very seductive one. And Hideo found himself losing more people than he gained. Most were taken in death. We lost many resistance cells in the early days. Hideo wanted to fight; I convinced him to try a more peaceful option. I suggested that instead of attacking the enemy, that we lie dormant, like a seed in the soil, waiting for the right time to flourish and bloom. This appealed to his philosophical side, and the 'Freemen' were born.
"But Hideo always held to the idea that decisive, tactical action was also needed to make changes in the world. So instead of cultivating soldiers for his revolution, he turned to an ancient Japanese legend for inspiration, about assassins who would go unseen and could perform the will of their lord and master without fail. To that end, he tasked me with finding young candidates whose personalities suggested rebelliousness and intelligence and were physically fit and came from poor families. But I would not simply pick anyone who fit that criteria. I only chose those who I felt would not leave behind more sorrow for their loss. Orphans...like me. But Hideo needed more, because orphans are hard to come by in our world.
"Many years ago, Hideo met Toby Monroe. Hideo never liked him, but Toby had experience with identifying characteristics in young people, having worked for a university selecting applicants. So Hideo saw value in him regardless. Eventually, Toby started looking at any candidate that would meet Hideo's criteria, regardless as to whether they had families to mourn them or not." India looked into my eyes. "When he asked me to recruit you, I disobeyed. Instead, I told him that what he was doing was wrong, and that if I could not tell him so, then we had no business trying to break the system...we might as well have been the system ourselves. Hideo made me a deal. He would not cut me loose for disobedience, but would make me your mentor when the time came that you were recruited. I would be solely responsible for your safety and training, ensuring that you were ready to perform the role set down for you. I had no choice. I had to agree. Somewhere inside, I still held onto the hope that Hideo was still the noble soul he always aimed to be. Toby was my replacement, and virtually every single assassin working for Hideo now came from his selection process. And since then, the jobs have been commissions from other corporations, other businesses. I know that Toby Monroe has picked candidates who are not rebellious and may not even be that intelligent. But they take to discipline and obey unerringly with the proper tutelage. But I ask you, Gena, how is that any different from the world that they have been taken from? Now they simply fulfill a purpose that only maintains the status quo and does not disrupt it. I worry that our leader has lost his way."
Silence filled the air. I hugged India right back. Time passed, and I started to contemplate all that I had learned about this world of shadows, and the rare points of light offered up to me by those who dwelt within it. In the stillness, India spoke to me some more.
"My parents told me that they named me 'India' after the lost subcontinent, destroyed and turned into a radioactive wasteland in the last world war. They said that their people came from that land, once rich with so much history and culture. Now, a ruin. A billion people and thousands upon thousands of years of civilization—forgotten. They said that my name was meant to represent hope for the future. A hope that despite everything that has happened, no matter how far from home we may travel, that we are all connected and carry our history...our legacy with every action we take. I always wanted to be that hope for them...even when they were taken from me." I looked up into that black sky, and I tried desperately to think about what gave me hope anymore. We sat for some time, again in silence, just waiting...but for what, I wasn't yet sure.
"I have to show you something," India suddenly stated as she rose from the ground on the roof.
"What is it?"
"You will understand when we get there."
India got into disguise and we took three transports all the way out to the outskirts of the corporate city campus. I had never been out this far before, and never to the place she took me. It looked like some kind of abandoned construction site. Of course, it might have only looked abandoned because by the time we got there, it was almost midnight.
She took me to a dark corner of the site and pulled a heavy tarp away from something. Underneath was a strange kind of machine, with a seat in the middle and two wheels, one in the front and one in back. It looked like an incomplete car, but an assortment of sexy, angular curves which reflected the moonlight off of its black exterior gave me an instinctive thrill to look on it.
India straddled the machine and bid me to get on behind her. She instructed me to hold on tight and handed me a helmet which covered my head. Despite the confinement, it was surprisingly comfortable and I had no issues seeing out of the clear visor in the front of it.
When India started the machine, the two wheels moved backward, then forward with a jump. I admit, I almost fell off, but I squeezed ever tighter to her body as we went, faster and faster, into the dark unknown, on those long abandoned highways that stretched out like netting across the country, like the desiccated veins after a vampire's feast.
An hour or so passed before India navigated the machine off of the larger roads. Even in the dark, I was alarmed to see so many trees—and so large, blooming without maintenance machines. The sky above was peppered with stars, a million points of light like someone stabbed a needle through a shroud covering a lamp. She drove us through the trees in such a way that I was sure that we were going to collide with one of these marvelous spectacles of natural splendor at high speed, thus ending my problems forever. But instead, the machine dipped down into a ravine, one with a floor paved in concrete, and we progressed into an underground bunker. Faint yellow lights illuminated the long path beyond, until we reached a steel door. India stepped off of her machine and walked over toward an analog control panel and entered a series of button presses. The door slid open, and what I saw inside reminded me that just when you thought that all of the layers of mystery had been peeled away, there were countless more beneath the surface.
India pulled down on a lever by the entrance—a circuit breaker—and light filled the massive space. The walls of this underground bunker—which went as high as ten meters or more—were lined with shelves of equipment, the likes of which I had never seen before. I walked around in awe. These were artifacts of the past—televisions, appliances, artwork, weaponry, and more. I turned to India and my dazzled expression made her smile.
"How long have you been holding onto this stuff?! I mean, this is huge!"
"From the start. I found this place while travelling, seeking candidates. Regrettably, there were no survivors here. But this was to be my secret base. My 'Batcave'. Oh, I'm sorry. You won't get that reference."
"I love it! It's so cool! But why are you showing me this now?"
"Because..." India hesitated for the first time ever that I could recall. "Because things are going to be changing. I don't know how or when, but I do not think that there are any more guarantees for our future. I think that you should know about this. And I want you to be ready. That you should make use of this...if something happens."
"Like what?" I mean, I didn't think that India actually went on any missions herself anymore, and I had become very confident in my own abilities as an assassin. I had no doubts about the next mission, which was just a week from today, despite recent events.
"I don't know for certain. And I don't want to give you any ideas without proof. Suffice to say, be careful, Gena. You are my hope for the future."
Chapter 8
"What do you mean you're replacing me?" My patience with Hideo was paper thin already, but when he summoned me mere hours before I was to depart for the Ontario prefecture to tell me this, I literally couldn't believe the words I was hearing.
"Your behavior as of late, Azaria," (yeah, last names—he was mad at me), "has been questionable. Your recent tantrum aside, you have been late with the progress reports for your continual training. Are you prepared to explain yourself?"
Yeah...Hideo had me do extra homework, believe it or not. I could blame my actual schoolwork for that. After all, I was already doing my thesis on sympathetic heating and cooling systems for use with combination refrigeration and cooking systems (they were kind of experimental, but I hate to admit it, I thought they were neat...fine, I'm a dork). But the truth was—and I know that Hideo knew this—I didn't want to tell him everything anymore. What India shared with me was between me and her. And Hideo was the kind of control freak who couldn't abide that. Well, fuck you, boss.
"...What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you that giving you a book report on what kind of odorless toxin I've used to disable the security guards before sneaking my way into the Hershey's Independent Learning Center corporate headquarters is kinda bullshit? Or my progress in maintaining retsev in the field while fighting off a dozen guards armed with tasers is redundant because you can just watch the recording for yourself? Or maybe you're so paranoid, that you think that I'm plotting against you or something, and clever you discovered my missteps. Bravo, boss!" Telling off Hideo felt good; what he did next didn't.
Hideo moved like a blur. He was on me in a heartbeat. His right hand was around my throat, and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. If he wanted to kill me, I could do absolutely nothing to stop it. But just before I blacked out, he dropped me.
"That is why I'm replacing you. Any degree of sloppiness portends failure. I'm going to restructure your training. And I'm reassigning India. You will have a new mentor, one whom I expect will provide a more firm hand at ensuring that you are disciplined! Come, Goram!" As I tried to let air flow into my windpipe again, the door from the bar opened, and in walked that "Adonis" Nancy told me about.
His head was clean-shaven, and he was dressed in loose-fitting camouflage fatigues that concealed the muscular body Nancy spoke of. Despite being indoors, he wore large, round sunglasses that concealed his eyes. His face had absolutely no expression on it whatsoever, like he was some kind of machine. If Hideo's plan was to terminate any sense of joy I might have ever had in this business, this was how he was going to do it. And apparently Hideo must have described me to Goram as some kind of "problem case" because he looked like he was taking this responsibility of reforming me as a personal affront.
"Get up," Goram barked. I did as I was told. I was actually a bit afraid of these two burly killers bearing down on me. "You and I will spend the rest of the day training. I understand you have been skilled in Krav Maga. That's good. Tonight, I'll show you the bagh nakh, along with some obviously needed strength training. I'll make a killer out of you yet." It's as though he had no idea that I'd been doing this for over a year...or that he didn't care. Was I really this hated?
***
My body ached all over. I hadn't been this sore since I first trained with India. And fucking Goram cut me! He said that knowing what it felt like to be injured by the bagh nakh—these kind of like brass knuckles with claws on them—would make me "appreciate the seriousness of our work" more. Fucking sadist. How did Nancy ever put up with this asshole?
Speaking of, a knock came on the door of my dormitory cell after training, and in walked Nancy. It was just as well since I was all but too tired to get up to greet her properly. Thankfully, I gave pre-authorization to my R.A. to let her in. She was dressed in a lovely semi-glossy blazer with these neon tassels, and a frilly olive and teal skirt...she was becoming far too fashionable to be seen in my company.
"Hello, darling...Oh, my God! What happened to you?!"
"Goram happened."
"Wait, what?!" Nancy had this confused look on her face, telling me that Hideo hadn't yet broken the news to her, which actually came as a bit of a surprise.
"Goram is my new mentor. Didn't you hear? ...Didn't he tell you?"
"Honey," Nancy began, sitting down beside my bruised body, "I haven't had a mentor for a year now. I thought that it was the same for you. Goram said that the mentorship process usually only lasted about a year. And that he had been assigned to a new candidate and told me to 'stay strong' and keep up with my training." And then it hit me: India probably defied Hideo here as well. If she was only supposed to stick around for a year, why was she still training me afterwards? "Didn't your mentor train you, Gena?"
"Of course, she trained me! I guess...Hideo figured I needed more." I lied. It hurt a bit to shrug, but I made the effort to sell it. I was feeling ashamed, like Nancy would judge me for falling behind or something. That was stupid. And I think she saw right through it.
"...You lipped off to Hideo again, didn't you?" I paused at the way she said this.
"What do you mean, 'again'? What have you been hearing about me?" I was on edge, even if I could only barely sit up in bed. And Nancy's wincing expression spoke volumes. "Nancy! What are you not telling me?"
"Look...Uncle Toby told me that he heard from Hideo that you were falling behind, and that I shouldn't expect that you were going to make it all the way to graduation."
"He was talking about me behind my back?! And you didn't think to mention this to me?"
"What was I supposed to do, Gena?! He told me to keep it a secret because he hoped that you would come around. I told him that you were worried about your brother back home, and he..."
"What?! You fucking told Toby about Aiden?! Oh, please, please, please, Nancy, please no! Fuck!"
"What the hell is your problem?!" She got up off the bed. Her body language wasn't just defensive—I think she thought that I might actually try to attack her, because she took a fighting stance. "You were so depressed, and Toby is family! I was feeling bad for you, and Toby could see that something was bothering me."
"You...pitied me?" There it was. I didn't want to see it, but there it was. I loved Nancy. She was my best friend. But I always had this fear that she looked down on me...because I wasn't as smart as her or as pretty as her. And maybe she wanted to prove now that she was the better assassin, too.
"Don't make it sound like I was trying to screw you, okay? We're both in this together, but we have to think about our futures! You've been so lost ever since you came to GE University, flittering away this golden opportunity. Where would you have been if I hadn't stepped in to save you, huh?! Or Uncle Toby? It wasn't luck that we were both got those scholarships. I mean, you figured that out, right? Toby hacked their database and picked who would get them from the start. That's how he was able to get us in here in the first place! If it hadn't been for him, I'd be stuck in Montana, milking cows and feeding grain to chickens at dawn. I mean, I love my daddy, but I missed this life, too! Uncle Toby reminded me of all of the wonderful things here that we just didn't have out in the wild. How could I not be grateful?"
"Listen to yourself, Nancy! You just admitted that he used you and me! Do you think that family does that?"
"Yes, I do! Family does it all the time! I was awestruck as a little girl to go to Montana and see the land for what it really was. But I was never given a choice. Toby gave me that. He said that I had so much potential, and that I could do more good from inside the system to change things than from outside. And that he could offer your brother the same choice. You really ought to be thanking him for saving Aiden from certain doom after I asked him to bring him in." This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. Nancy...Nancy did this?! I was shaking. I didn't even realize what I did next until it happened.
I launched myself from my bed at Nancy. This was stupid, since the comparatively soft bed didn't give me much resistance, and Nancy was ready. She swatted me away with ease, and I tumbled onto my desk. Combined with my soreness and anger, my attempts to sweep her leg from the prone position was as feeble as if a baby were trying to trip you. Nancy hopped over it and stomped on me with her heel. But just once, though. She loved me, after all...
"Are you done, Gena?! Can we stop acting like children, please?!"
"You bitch," I rasped between fits of coughing, "You should have known he was off-limits."
"Bitch?!" Nancy put her hand against her chest, and I wasn't entirely sure if she was making fun of me or if she was genuinely offended. "Wow. Okay, I'm through looking out for you. I have a job tomorrow in the Ontario prefecture, so I don't have time to listen to your little tantrum. Good luck to you in your future, Gena. You're going to need it if you keep alienating everyone the way you do!" Nancy stormed out of my room, leaving me curled up on the floor, a useless pile of pain and tears.
Chapter 9
It's the things that you don't say...that you don't do that haunts you the most.
Would life have been any better if I, y'know, applied myself? Would Aiden have been so resentful and blamed me if I actually got here on my own merits, instead of being hand-picked for a clandestine, illegal organization? Would I have had any say in my life if I lived it any differently?
Regret is bullshit, though. It's the one thing that you can truly never do a damn thing about. But it's always there.
Even though Nancy had betrayed me, even if she didn't mean to do it or didn’t mean to hurt me, I felt horrible about how things ended between us. I thought that the worst thing that could happen was that she would leave me in the dust, and that the friend I bonded with in these decisive years of my young adult life would forget about me. I was wrong. That wasn't the worst thing.
***
A week passed. I fought the urge to go see how Nancy was doing. To call her or send her a virtual message...anything. It wasn't pride, no...not really. I just felt like I had been kicked around so much lately—literally in the case of my new "mentor", Goram...he actually did kick me—that I was afraid of getting more of the same from her. Would she think that if I showed up at her dormitory that I was actually going to try to kill her? Would I even have pre-authorization to get in? Would I have to wait outside of the dorm and chuck a log into the frame to sneak in like I did over a year ago with Sanjay?
So I waited. And waited. Until the unthinkable happened.
I received a voicemail from Aiden.
In truth, I didn't know it was from him at first; the identifier was "unknown", but when I started to listen to it, there was no mistaking that it was my little brother. The same lost soul who I hadn't spoken to in as long as I had been attending this school. Mom and Dad were still grieving his disappearance; they also had to move to an even smaller apartment as a punitive measure due to Aiden failing to check in with his probation counselor after the fight last year. And now, after all of this time, he reached out to me. I'd like to say that it came from some sense of forgiveness or even a desire to forge a professional partnership. But that couldn't be farther from the truth. Listen:
"Dear...dear Gena. College life treating you well? Making new friends? I've been making new friends. I've learned a lot about you since you left us behind...left me behind. How's your application coming along? I know you struggled in high school so much. It must come as quite a shock to be working without a safety net at the university. You must be a bundle of stress...ready to snap. Oh, but you've got some nice women who have been holding your hand throughout all of this. They must be good people, your mentor, India, and your dear, dear friend...Nancy, was it? Yes, it was Nancy. I've got friends, too. I think you know them. One of them told me that Nancy had to do your job for you. That she went to Ontario prefecture because you weren't up to it. Just think about how different things would be...but I'm getting ahead of myself. I want to show you something I think that you should see. Let's just say that a...friend shared this with me, and I want you to understand just what your selfishness...your irresponsibility has produced. You need to own your failings, dear, dear sister. And I'm going to make sure of it. Enjoy the show."
There was an attached video file; it was titled "MISSION 083-A2". My fingers went numb. I knew what that file name meant. India and Hideo had reviewed my performance videos captured via my mandatory eyewear, and I had seen the names of these files before. They were also logged into my mission dossiers when Hideo presented them to me. The "A2" was different, but I had to presume that it was meant to differentiate between the mission I was supposed to perform and the one that Nancy must have completed. Why did Aiden want me to see this? And how did he even get these files. They were supposed to be accessible only to Hideo, who only shared the files with mentors for a one-time playback, deleted automatically afterward for security. What was Aiden playing at?
With trepidation, I pressed "begin" on the AR display, which projected outward into a virtual reality space in my humble dormitory cell. I saw the world through Nancy's eyes, I saw her mission from start to finish. And at the end of it, the ground shifted beneath me...and my world came crashing down...fiery wreckage...ashes in my blood.
***
"Operative Nancy, reporting in. Case log: 083-A2. Location: Huawei-Google Syndicate Megalopolis 12, Section Z14-B, in the Toronto prefecture. Preparing for dive by way of semi-autonomous flight suit into position. Refactoring for wind conditions. Whew, we're really high up! Mission is to eliminate the VPs of 'propaganda for use in corporate merger strategems’, the deadly duo known as ''The Shang Brothers'. Got them double teaming me now, boss?" Nancy giggled. "Order of preferred means of assassination. One: neurotoxin. Equipped with blowdarts and blowgun, and two self-dissolving gas grenades. Two: tactical kris. Silent, but will require isolating to employ, and that may be more trouble than it's worth. I didn't have any time to research these boys, so seduction's off the table. Sorry, getting off topic. I know you hate that. Third: TK-K12 mini Uzi equipped with silencer and micro-explosive rounds. Last resort but should leave an impression...on the walls!" More laughter. "Okay, okay...get in the zone, Nancy." Three deep breaths...inhaling, exhaling. "Begin mission! Geronimooooo!"
Nancy leapt from the mile-high communications toward dominating the Toronto skyline, the fabric of her automated flight suit spreading out behind her, guiding her descent. The ground below here was a vast and endless sea of cityscape, stretching out as far and wide as her eyes could see. I heard that Toronto used to be a city built by a large lake, but there was no longer any evidence of this. But the so-called "Great Lakes" had been depleted ages ago.
Her eyes were fixed on another massive building several hundred meters out. It was clear from her point of view and trajectory that she intended to land on the rooftop of the structure, which was going to require split-second timing. The wind raced past her ears, which even though they were protected during the flight by mufflers, was still loud enough to produce a deafening roar.
The rooftop approached, and Nancy folded her arms closer inward to control her descent, successfully ducking and rolling onto the smooth surface. She pressed a button under her elbow, and the sagging fabric retracted into the folds of the suit, instead becoming a form fitting black body suit, which hugged her body in all of the right places. Nancy had gained some weight, but I thought in only made her look more healthy, more attractive. She looked down at her person, checking to see that all of her equipment was there. The Uzi was yet to be assembled, but I was familiar with the weapon. If she was half as familiar with it as I was, she'd have it together in one-point-eight seconds, more than enough time if the shit hit the fan.
Since Nancy was hot on the site, I didn't expect her to talk much more until she completed and exited the stage. She was in character: a nubile killer in a latex cat suit. I bet she had a mask on like in those superhero vids we used to watch together. Her hair was, of course, flowing freely. She was always proud of her luxurious hair.
Nancy moved with speed through the blind spots of the air cars, and toward the entrance port. She affixed a small, mechanical device to the unit. Three seconds later, the entrance yielded without so much as a whisper of an alarm. I watched Nancy slowly descend a narrow, entirely vertical service elevator shaft using the electromagnetic array equipped in her gloves, clinging to the walls with her left hand, while prepping her blowgun with the right, before holstering it yet again. She counted in whispers, measuring how many meters she was descending before she had to stop and enter the building. She stopped and fell silent. She pressed a few buttons concealed within the sleeve of her left arm, and her right hand started to produce a subtle acid, dissolving the mechanism sealing the panels between the ductwork. She ripped the panel off and dropped it into the nigh-infinite void below, no sound indicating if and when it ever hit bottom. Then, she crawled horizontally through the ducts. She was muttering something: "Come out to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs." I didn't get it.
After nearly ten minutes, Nancy emerged into a narrow service catwalk perched high above an expansive room dominated in the center by a massive, pyramid-like structure, itself comprised of a multitude of offices designed to appear as though they were open-air rooms. The windows surrounding the entire gigantic hall looked out onto the Toronto skyline, but there were also subtle illusions projected over it to suggest that the skyline itself was also comprised of shrines and monuments from ancient Eastern civilizations. Placid music was performed by musicians playing instruments like the guzheng as they were suspended on platforms that hovered closely toward the peak of the pyramid, entertaining their masters.
Nancy wasted no time in admiring the scenery any more than she had to from a tactical standpoint. She scurried along the catwalk, keeping low to the ground. Not that anyone could see her, but a lower profile was always advantageous, and it was good practice. She tapped the sides of her eyewear, which I realized had to have been goggles instead of the traditional glasses, since the whole point for Nancy was less about blending in than going unseen. The optical interface zoomed in on the highest floor of the pyramid, and her heads-up display (or "HUD", for short) counted thirteen warm bodies within. She spent the next fifteen minutes establishing and marking movement trends and searching for entranceways via the three-dimensional blueprints she had overlayed via AR over her HUD.
I admit, I was impressed. Nancy had gotten very good at her job. In just a day, she already had a loadout for the mission prepped on the off chance that something like this might come up. Smart girl.
After Nancy identified a potential breach point between the surveillance equipment scanning the area and the people on the top floor, she withdrew a zipline gun, simultaneously firing mortar-piercing darts behind her and outward toward the ornamental (but hopefully sturdy) tip of the pyramid. Zipline guns were great, and they came up a lot more often than you might expect. They just had one drawback. To get the force required to propel the anchor into the wall, they couldn't have too much mass, so the zipline itself was just a thin wire. To overcome the obvious snapping problem, they were charged with electromagnetic pulses, so it was really the electricity you were riding, not an actual zipline. We used to jokingly call it "riding the lightning", but we were more right than we knew. The only problem with this was that you couldn't rely on EMP technology while using it...unless you wanted it to snap and have it drop you. It also took some getting used to using, because they were fast, almost as fast as a bolt of lightning.
Nancy grabbed on and activated the zipline, and in less than a second, she had crossed the gap. She recoiled the line, stowed it, and retrieved a focused laser cutter from her harness, and began penetrating through the ornamental shingles on the rooftop. This was a little risky, because if the tiles—which at least looked ceramic—were, in fact, ceramic, this would be slow going and cost her valuable time. But Nancy must have done her homework because they sliced through the synthetic plastic like a hot knife through margarine, and she descended inside in seconds flat. Leave it to corporate contractors to install substandard material in places where they think that no one will bother checking.
Nancy was in a (comparatively) small office, which no one was using. As she stowed the cutter, she pulled out a small, crystalline orb that I had never actually seen before, but heard about. It wasn't common to field test experimental equipment, but I knew why she was going for it. The orb was capable of emitting small pulses of subsonic waves which supposedly, when used in short bursts, could fool surveillance cameras and drones into "thinking" that no one was there...rendering you effectively invisible. But the problem with subsonic frequencies is that they didn't get along with biological equipment, and in some kind of gross ways. Even though the mechanism had a slight radius—so it wasn't likely to bother anybody else unless you were right on top of them—it tended to give the user a really bad case of indigestion, as it fluctuated the contents within the digestive system. I don't need to tell you why this is really bad on a mission like this. So one to two second bursts were about the most you could count on without needing diapers or a barf bag, thus earning it the nickname, the "Urp Orb".
Her HUD continued to anticipate the occupants of the highest floor, and paired this with biometric readouts for accuracy. Evidently, Nancy was counting on the Shang brothers both being on this floor. I wondered if she was going to use a remote "mouse" drone to identify the floor’s occupants. But these were a risky gamble, since really vermin didn't exist in places like these, and it would probably set off the security sensors themselves in such a densely monitored location. And considering the open-air nature of the offices in the pyramid, she could probably rule out any kind of remote delivery of a neurotoxin canister. But given that these open-air offices were cradled within a glass-enclosed skyscraper—combined with her wingsuit and the Uzi equipped with explosive bullets—I had a theory about her exit strategy.
I watched Nancy fixate her gaze on the two largest heat signatures on the floor, and then start crawling toward the doorway, which was conveniently ajar. Nancy knew that a security camera was pointed directly at that entranceway, however, and she wasn't prepared to give away her position just yet by directly targeting it. And lobbing a "JAFF grenade" into the hall would have just enough of a delay to trigger the security system. So it was time to get tricky. Nancy activated the orb and rolled with amazing alacrity around the corner, deactivating it in less than a second. She grabbed her stomach, and I heard her let out a faint belch.
She was just outside of the threshold for the office that the Shang brothers likely occupied. Problem was, they were seated opposite one another, and both had a clear vantage point of the open entrance to their office. So the moment that Nancy crossed that threshold, they would see her, no question. And the neurotoxin had long enough of a delay to make it inefficient, so the blowgun was out, too. Well, nothing's perfect, and stealth sometimes can only take you so far. She took the opportunity to assemble her Uzi and readied her kris, gripping the blade between two fingers on her left hand. Then Nancy took a deep breath and made her move.
Nancy was a killing angel. She had a style and agility most people could only dream of. She actually cartwheeled hands-free into the room (show off), succeeding in disorienting both of the portly businessmen seated on opposite sides of a curved desk. (It looked like someone should be sitting at the head of it, but no one did.) The kris flew from her fingertips so fast that I didn't even see it land deep in the brother on the left's throat. I definitely saw Nancy take aim with her Uzi and unload a volley of rounds into the one on the right. He popped like a ripe piece of popcorn, and I started to lose my appetite.
I once asked Nancy why she favored something so inaccurate as an Uzi for precision missions like these. She said that because we always hunted fat people, accuracy kind of didn't matter so much. I guess it was a difference of opinion, but she wasn't wrong here. Only thing, I wasn't cool with having to clean off bits of VP from my outfits after each gig.
The alarms were already going off. Klaxons. Strobes. The usual. Nancy grabbed for her kris, twisted (nasty, Nancy), and pulled out, resulting in a massive sanguine geyser spraying all the way to the ceiling. Can't say that the girl had any problem getting her hands dirty anymore.
Confirming my suspicion, she once again pulled out the zipline gun, and fired a wire to connect with a supporting beam covered in replica stone. She wasn't aiming for the beam itself; she was looking at the big, giant window opposite. She trained her Uzi on it, gripped the zipline, and took off. She fired her gun moments before doing so, anticipating that the shattered glass would provide an ample portal for her to fling herself from, open her wingsuit, and soar into the night and to freedom. Only, that's not exactly what happened.
The glass shattered, but Nancy's line snapped as the electricity all around her went out for just long enough to disrupt her zipline. She dropped the Uzi in the heat of the moment, and she plummeted along with it toward the rock garden below. The sand broke her fall...along with her left arm from the impact. She shrieked in pain. Suddenly, a squad of at least a dozen armed (yes, armed) soldiers were on her in a heartbeat. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. They weren't armed with the kind of typical electronic equipment we always saw on security guards; they had actual fucking machine guns, equipped with tactical scopes. I think they were replicas of the M4A1 rifle, but given how much Nancy was moving around, I didn't get a good enough look.
They fired. All at once. Nancy dove with exceptional speed to cover, but not before taking two bullets; one in her shoulder, and one in her thigh. She was breathing so erratically, that I actually tried slowing my breathing, as though I thought that it could help her. My heart was in my stomach as I watched her struggle to maneuver away from the firefight. The pyramid loomed over her, and the sounds of the soldiers boots on the wooden bridges separating the rock garden from the various ponds grew louder. Nancy lobbed a neurotoxin canister blindly toward the sound to no avail. They had gas masks on, too, which was completely implausible...unless they knew what she was bringing. Oh no...
Nancy turned her gaze toward the shattered glass window, the intense winds blowing into the skyscraper—an adverse effect of being up so high—and she made one last desperate run toward it, despite the pain, despite the danger all around her. As she raced, I saw her spit up blood. Oh Nancy...please make it. Please.
A single shot rang out. Not from the soldiers below...but from a sniper positioned up on the very same catwalk Nancy entered from previously. The sniper was ready...waiting. I didn't notice...Nancy didn't notice the sniper before, as he was behind the tip of the pyramid, and only was visible now from the particular angle from which he shot her...right through the heart. I felt like my heart stopped. It might as well have. But nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
Nancy was surely dead, but the goggles continued to transmit. Smoke. Fire all around Nancy's broken body, her wingsuit melting into her flesh, immolated in seconds. Her lovely hair vanishing in a flash. And then the feed cut out. Nancy was cremated on site, but not by any of the soldiers, not by some kind of warped security system. It was something else. Probably some kind of failsafe mechanism to prevent identification...to prevent anyone from tracing her back to...Hideo.
Chapter 10
India and I raced through the night on her electric motorcycle to her bunker to get equipped for the coming storm. Everything ran cold in me now, and I supposed that it must have been the same for her...and it wasn't just the night air. We passed through the long corridor stretching and descending almost a full kilometer toward the entrance to her bunker, and after temporarily disabling the security to get inside, we both moved into India's "war room" to arm up and plan our attack on the bar.
"We take Hideo alive, Gena," India reminded me. I didn't argue. I was starting to see some of the pieces fit together but saw just as many that didn't...maybe more. Like why did Hideo want Nancy dead? Or was it even Hideo at all who set the trap? It couldn't have been the Shang brothers, obviously. But then why wait until after they were dead? I shared all of this with India, but we kept coming back to the same answer. Hideo. He may not have known what was going to happen, but he knew enough about all of the pieces of the puzzle. We had to start there. Only...we also knew that he didn't like to "explain" himself. That was too bad, boss man. You were going to explain, one way or the other.
India handed me a tactical outfit to match hers. Low-profile body armor. Cutting edge stuff, all things considered. Was practically bullet proof ultra-kevlar, but the impact would still bruise like a fucker. But I'd take a hundred bruises over a punctured lung. It even resisted bladed weapons a bit, though not enough to render them impotent in the hands of a skilled assassin. Of course, that left the head. India had that covered, too...literally. The same motorcycle helmet she gave me just so happened to be made out of a carbon-ceramic mesh that protected from bullets and (most) hostile laser fire. We were pretty sure that Hideo wouldn't rely on lasers, though. He knew that the equipment that was required to generate it was prone to being disabled with an EMP pulse...so we were bringing those, too.
Despite the cold rage driving me onward, despite my anger at everything, I didn't say much...I didn't say anything as I got outfitted with the biggest, baddest loadout I'd ever had. I told India everything after she arrived by rooftop at my dorm and shook me out of my state of shock. She listened to everything I shared, and I knew that she believed me, and that she was ready to strike. And strike hard.
But they struck first.
The explosion from the missile shook the whole bunker, which I couldn't believe was possible. We heard the gates blow off and the sirens and lights activate in response. I heard some titanic machine slamming into the dozen security gates dropped automatically to repel such an attack; they crumpled like foil against whatever had enough force to plow right through them. Death was coming like a meteor, a juggernaut of unstoppable force, right to us.
India signaled for us to split up, but to keep in sight when able. I trusted that she knew this environment better than anyone, so I had to oblige her. The sprinkler system triggered and fought against the flickering flames we saw coming from the main hall of the bunker.
"You think that you were the only one with a secret base, India?!" Goram. His voice was emanating from a speaker affixed somewhere to the massive, armored vehicle that plowed its way--all the way—into the bunker. It was equipped with a massive titanium plow that resembled something a little more than phallic. Not to mention the missile launchers on each shoulder that fired the salvo. If Goram wanted to kill us all--including himself—all he had to do was press a button. There was only one problem: one of the wheels had dislodged in the impact, so this big piece of overcompensation was staying right where it was.
"Come out now, ladies! Let us not waste anymore of Hideo's time, shall we?" He was mocking us, but he was also giving away his position inside the APC. That was an advantage I hoped to exploit. I couldn't guess how much he was able to get a read on from within the machine, but I stuck to sneaking behind the assorted debris and shelves of antiquities when at all possible. Hideo. He was saying that Hideo sent him. I rounded the corner just next to the vehicle and prepared to clamor into the entrance port on top of it when I felt the impact of Goram's FN P90 bullpup submachine let loose a burst against my sides. I heard at least one rib crack. But thanks to the combination of the kevlar body armor and bulletproof helmet, in addition to my quick reflexes—conditioned after intensive training and mission after mission—that was the worst of it. Through the audio sensors in the helmet, I could hear laughter between the trained bursts of fire from Goram's submachine gun.
"Hahaha! Fooled you!" He held up a small device in his free hand—another reason to be thankful for his inaccuracy, but it was terrifying to think that he was this precise at all firing one-handed. The bastard smirked, and I saw flames reflected in his mirror-like sunglasses. He lifted the device to his lips and continued to mock us. "Testing, testing! I'm in the car! Oh no, they've found me! Hahaha!" His voice emanated from the speakers on the APC. He tossed the remote away, gripped the weapon and started to stalk through the debris for me. I resisted the urge to fire on Goram right away. Not out of some sense of kinship or fidelity. I just didn’t want him to pin me down in the environment before I acquired a better tactical advantage. I skulked between overturned shelves, shattered television sets, food stuffs, and so on, doing what I could to avoid making any noise, as Goram strode through the carnage, occasionally kicking over a miraculously still standing shelf amid the wreckage.
In the midst of our game of "cat and mouse" (Nancy used to call it that), I unholstered the SIG Sauer M17 India gave me while we were getting equipped. She told me that this was the kind of handgun she preferred for its accuracy and versatility. It took me a moment to get used to it being a kind of muddy brown color. Most guns I used were black or had a metal finish. She said that handguns, like people, may be of all different shapes and colors, but some are better matches for people regardless. She took the opportunity to give me a "what's on the inside that counts" lesson, but from India, it didn't feel like patronizing; it felt like wisdom.
Goram was smart, but arrogant, and that meant that he was unpredictable. In the brief moment that I saw him, I noticed that he wasn't wearing body armor. On the contrary, he was wearing a faded grey camouflage, accented with arm and leg guards outfitted with blades. He was also now wearing a full-face mask meant to resemble a skull; it was also equipped with a rebreather, so he must've figured that we might try some gas-based defenses. In the brief period I trained with Goram, I learned that he had a sadistic side. He enjoyed making you feel like you had the upper hand, and lured you into exposing yourself, giving him the opportunity to capitalize on it. I knew that beneath his mask that he was still smirking that ubiquitous smirk. I wondered if he was still wearing his shades, too, the nutjob.
I couldn't just count on sneaking up on him and him not having some kind of plan to punish me for it. Bu I also couldn't maintain line of sight on him the whole time that I was evading him. Therefore, I had no idea if he took the opportunity to lay down some kind of trap—like a pressure-sensitive anti-personnel mine—in his wake while I wasn't aware. He didn't seem to care that he was calling attention to himself. He was firing sporadic bursts into the wreckage, but clearly wasn't hitting us...or was trying to make it look like he didn't know where we were. I never underestimated the skill of the mentors. After all, Goram supposedly passed along to Nancy everything that she could do, and I had seen that firsthand hours ago. No, Goram was putting on a show...but I couldn't figure out why just yet and I knew better than to jump into his clutches without a plan. I could tell that India must have been thinking the same thing, because despite all of this, she was nowhere to be seen. And as Goram continued his search, amidst the flames and smell of gunpowder was...something that smelled a bit like garlic?
"Do you know what 'God' is, children?" Goram's voice reverberated throughout the massive bunker, booming with the authority of a corporate politician—a demagogue with a machine gun. "God is what holds us back from being what we truly are. That is why God was banned so long ago." Goram's boots crunched glass beneath his heel. "But what was lost was the truth about us...about you and me, Gena. And what are we? Monsters. Devils. Dragons."
I finally caught sight of India. She had crept her way around Goram and was positioning herself atop a large wall with climbing rungs embedded in it, which she had told me she used for strength training. She had an SRS-A2 Covert sniper rifle slung across her back, and she was in the process of silently readying it to use on our would-be killer.
"Hideo understood this when he invited me to teach you. We both came from the dark lands, ruined by war and destruction. War humanity conjured forth from the depths of Hell. He sent me a message with my mission: destroy the traitors. He shared with me where to find you. He shared that the mission that slew my pupil, Nancy, was meant for you, Gena." Goram howled and kicked over yet another shelving unit. He was doing so with some regularity. "Hideo found me in a land that used to be called Russia a long time ago. That land had a history. We were a people who were kings of the Earth. Now, refugees all. But history has a way of surviving...with enough determination." India was training her sights on Goram, and I was moving into a flanking position. Distracting him would be easy.
"I read something once by a countryman, written centuries ago...went by the name of Helena Blavatsky." Something was obscuring my line of sight on Goram...like smoke? He pulled out a small metal box about an inch or two in size from his vest pocket, and flicked open the lid. He continued: "She wrote something I want to share with you: 'And now it stands proven that Satan, or the Red Fiery Dragon, the Lord of Phosphorous, and Lucifer, or Light-Bearer, is in us; it is our Mind.' Amen." Goram sparked a flame from the tiny box with a flick of his thumb and chucked the lighter into the growing white mist.
Here there be dragons. The mist ignited with a blast that threw me at least five meters across the room. I was on fire and had no alternative but to shed my combat armor as fast as possible. There would be scarring, but it could have been worse. I discovered that Goram had been dropping small, time activated canisters of white phosphorous in the midst of his ruckus but had maneuvered out of the blast zone before he activated the incendiaries. He was setting a trap, and I fell for it.
India took the shot, and despite her exceptional aim, Goram had already moved out of sight in the chaos, and all she had succeeded in doing was revealing her position; I knew she would be on the move. And I was in really bad danger, because I realized that Goram would try to pick me off first, now that I was unarmored, which in turn would even his odds and piss off India.
Breathe...breathe...but my breathing was becoming difficult as well. The intense flames were incinerating vast sections of the bunker, and smoke was abundant. I couldn't even use the smoke to my advantage. Goram planned for this as well, but my helmet didn't have a rebreather. I removed the helmet as well, since I needed as much peripheral vision as I could get. I was quite naked, and I was scared. Instead of letting the fear dictate my actions, however, I felt something primal within me start to swell...to awaken.
I crouched low with my pistol and dashed between the debris. I howled. I howled again. And I heard laughter...my stalker's enthusiastic, bellowing laughter. Good. I was playing off of Goram's macabre dramatic sensibilities better than I expected. I also knew that, superficially, I was making it seem as though I were giving away my position in the mayhem; I was...just not in the way that I hoped that he would expect.
India had explained to me that the bunker was originally designed to house a small community of what used to be called "preppers"...people who prepared for some calamitous event. If you asked me what I thought about something like that a couple of years ago, I would have called them "crazy"...now, I felt the exact opposite. This prepping was my last chance to stay alive. She told me that the bunker was intended to be completely self-sufficient. Everything that they could need was on hand, and the ingredients to make all of the essentials of everyday life...including soap. My only hope was that in the midst of all of the damage that the ingredients I was looking for were first, intact, and second, labeled correctly. I was in luck.
I made some noise, scurrying around, firing off a round or two...just enough to tempt him to open fire. He did not disappoint. But I didn't want to give my plan away. I maneuvered into an area where the sprinkler system continued to fight the raging flames as ineffectually as ever...but they would still work to my advantage. That's when I chucked the plastic gallon labeled "lye" at Goram. The gunfire I heard was followed with a sizzling sound...and screaming. Burn, baby, burn. Now it was Goram's turn to give away his position to India.
The only flaw in my plan: I didn't have any interest in seeing Goram stripped down to his bare necessities. Oh well. Small price to pay for this asshole getting chemical burns.
I picked my head up to see the musclebound killer firing his gun upward, toward a black shadow descending on him from on high. India. She was armed with a long katana and must have opted for close range combat. This was understandable; she was trying to remove the risk of Goram finding one of us before we could strike at him. Her blade flew with such ferocity that I didn't even see Goram's arm fly off until it plopped down at my feet. The splattered blood merged with my own, and the bits of glass embedded in my shins and knees from crawling around. I saw India drive her blade deep into Goram, piercing out from behind him. Goram had dropped his gun, but he was holding something else tightly in his hand.
I took aim with my SIG Sauer and was mere nanoseconds from blowing Goram's head into pulp. But before I could fire, Goram raised his remaining arm, and I watched him let go of a small grip with a red button on the top, connected by a thin wire that traced its way to his chest. And in a flash of flame and light, both of them were gone. I shielded my eyes. Mercifully, I didn't find enough of either of Goram or India, but I knew what happened. India wasn't engaging in close quarters to even the odds. She must have known that Goram had a kill switch. She always told me to never underestimate a target's will to survive, or even to retaliate. People are capable of anything when their backs are to the wall. And Goram was out of options...meaning so was India.
I dropped the pistol, and sunk to my knees, the shards of glass only digging deeper inward. But I felt no physical pain; the emotional pain was loud enough to drown out anything else. I was alone.
Chapter 11
It was late evening by the time I returned to the outskirts of the GE University corporate city campus on India's motorcycle…which was mine now, I guess. And I had a bone to pick with my boss.
I was bruised, burned, cut, tired, and my ribs still ached, regardless of the tightly wrapped topical pain-relieving binding around my chest. I was hopped up on pain medication and stimulants. I didn't really have a choice.
Despite the destruction, the bunker was stronger than I expected. The flames eventually died out, although there was no way that I could definitively secure the structure before I had to leave. I found my discarded body armor. There were massive holes in it, yes, but miraculously I could still wear it. I found some protective pads to cover my legs and arms—not unlike what Goram wore...actually, one of the ones I reclaimed was Goram's bladed bracer from his dismembered arm. It was a haphazard look that nevertheless prioritized function over fashion. It would do.
I was tired of not getting to say goodbye to the people I loved. I vowed that I would say goodbye to Aiden...even if it meant killing him.
I was afraid to sleep. My nerves were on high alert. Even with the pain and trauma, I was able to maintain my breathing. Collect myself. But the simple truth is that even when the will is strong, the flesh is weak. I couldn't let on. I was going into the lion's den with the biggest bluff I could muster. And this probably wouldn't be enough by itself. Thankfully, I had some toys to sell it. And a plan. Even if it was a crap plan.
***
My patience was gone, and time was of the essence. A fraction of me debated going into that faux pharmacy for the last time armed with diplomacy...an attempt to parlay. That idea flittered away pretty quick, and I certainly burned that bridge the moment I briskly walked in through the door in my hodge-podge body armor and put two holes right through Marvin's head before he could grab the shotgun he kept concealed beneath the counter. I walked my way around said counter, and punched the button granting access to the underground bar/assassin hideout.
I could hear the thumping of intense, pulse-pounding music from beyond that pointless metal detector already...music that I had kind of grown to like, if I were being completely honest...music that would be my greatest advantage in what was about to come next. Frag grenades should do the job...like twelve. Ah fuck it, let's make it a baker's dozen. I had the pins all wired to one cord; one pull, and they bounced down the metal staircase sounding like a double pedal bass drum, which was masked perfectly by the thrash metal coming out of the surround system. Nancy told me about this music before. It was...Motörhead's "Overkill", I think? How appropriate.
Screaming and explosions. Smoke and fire. I strode down the steps with a pair of Micro Uzis—one in each hand—to warm things up. I had plenty of spraying to do, as I waived my arms back and forth while holding down the triggers, letting loose a barrage of suppressing fire. With the twenty round magazines, I only got about a second's worth out of this, but that was long enough for me to unholster my M4A1—modded with a "CQBR" (Close Quarters Battle Receiver)...and an M203 grenade launcher. It was a little unwieldy, but I wasn't planning on keeping it attached long term. Just long enough for the biggest grouping to perk their heads up. I didn't have to wait long.
I gripped the rifle's magazine and pulled the trigger of the launcher at a group of about four disoriented would-be killers. I detached the launcher right as they went flying. I wagered that there was about six or seven still functioning combatants left, so it was time to slip behind cover. Thankfully, one intact pool table was close at hand...but behind that table, in a bloodied olive green and teal suit, ripped and smeared with blood, was a familiar face.
Sanjay and I locked eyes for a second; that was all I could afford. I felt the faintest wistful bit of nostalgia take my thoughts...just before I killed Sanjay for real. Funny, but I thought he would have graduated by now.
I should mention something about the metal detector now. That wasn't to keep weapons from coming in...not really. It was to make sure that the weapons inside the base didn't grow legs and walk off. Hideo was very particular about this. So if you're wondering if I was being shot at right now...yeah. I was being shot at. A lot. And I was never more grateful that most of my comrades didn't keep heavy ordinance on hand at all times. Shotguns, submachine guns, and pistols mostly, and with comparatively low penetrating power typically. I was counting on that...desperately.
I wasn't behind cover for long, mind you. I kept a low profile as I moved up from cover to cover...the shattered bar, busted tables, really anything to disorient my enemy. This was little more than a segue to my next distraction as I crept my way toward the far end of this gauntlet of bullets and bombs.
I found something in India's weapon stash when she first took me to her base of operations. It was a small, remote-controlled drone with lights all over it. When I activated it for the first time in her bunker, I immediately regretted it. I was blinded for a solid minute and disoriented for another thirty at least. It wasn't until after I did this to myself that I noticed the protective plastic film that came in the box that negated the blinding strobe effect. But I saw some useful applications in it for what was to come.
I knew it was a chancey move, but I also knew that the rewards could be huge if it worked. I just hoped that no one would be smart enough to try to shoot it out of the air before I triggered it. Despite everything in recent history, luck was on my side. I piloted the drone into the center of the ruined bar, and the strobe effect pulsed and flashed. The survivors let out a communal groan and yelled, grabbing their eyes, and in some cases, dropping their guns. It was quite the light show...or I bet it was, since I had taped that protective film along the visor of my helmet in advance. It looked pretty cool along with the music, which was somehow against all odds still playing.
When I look back on what followed, it still fills me with nausea. But mercy was not a luxury I could afford. I killed the blinded survivors...each and every one.
...What had I become?
All that waited for me was the back room at the end of this maze of death and destruction. That ominous green door remained closed, still as a corpse. That didn't sit well with me. That meant that Hideo was still in there, just letting me kill all of his men and women like this. What must he have been thinking? Why didn't he have a contingency for this? I should be dead by now.
I rolled a grenade I saved toward the door; it exploded into splinters. Nothing. Was he even here? I put my back against the wall near the breach, my rifle raised, and turned the corner with the barrel pointed forward. Hideo wasn't there. But someone else was...and he was waiting for me with a grin on his face. Someone I hadn't seen in over a year...at least, not in person anyway.
Aiden.
Chapter 12
This was not the same sweet boy I grew up with. This was the face of a hardened killer, ornamented with tattoos, piercings, and a sneer. His hair was a mop of electric blue, shaved off on one side—a slight change from his dossier pictures that Hideo shared with me a year ago. He was wearing a marked-up denim jacket with baggy sleeves, littered with obscure occult symbols, and he had mesh gloves on his hands, cradling a straight razor which he was using to clean off the stubble on his scalp. He did this as he looked at me enter Hideo's office, armed to the teeth. He didn't even blink. He knew I was coming...not that I was subtle about it. But he knew it was me.
He set down the razor on an end table that remained standing despite the blast which left char marks and rubble in its wake. He wiped down his head with a damp towel, turned back to me, and said, "How's school, sis?"
I lowered my rifle. Not that I wasn't suspicious that he was planning something to hurt me, but that I deep down didn't want to hurt my brother. I left the helmet on. Trust wasn't that forthcoming.
"I've almost graduated. My grades are good. Still working on my application. I guess I've been distracted by my part-time job too much." I hoped that the sarcasm would lighten the mood, or maybe it just opened the floodgates of my cold rage a little more.
"Clearly," he retorted. "You've really thrown yourself into your work, sister." I really didn't like the way that he said that. "Stiff competition, I hear." Now Aiden was adding puns to his witty repartee in addition to contempt. "Can't say I blame you for that. There's only room for one Number One, and you don't get there by being soft." What little I had of my already threadbare patience was now gone.
"Aiden, what the actual fuck are you doing here?!” I waived my arms around. “And I mean that in every possible sense of the word?!" He turned to me, smiled with teeth that had been filed into points. Eegh.
"Proving a point. You know that I was always made to feel like I was subservient to you...my whole life. And why? Just because I was younger. Judged to be more inexperienced by virtue of my age alone. What rubbish. I was always better than you...smarter than you, and you know it. Why did you get the scholarship? Age. What did you do with it? Waste it. I was left behind in a world that didn't care...didn't want to care about my needs. Conform or die. Fall in line. Be a brick in the wall or be nothing at all." He held up a small remote which he pulled from one of his jacket pockets. "You can't achieve your true potential if you just let other people set arbitrary rules to keep you down. Tear down the wall. Let me show you." He pressed the button, and a video projection emerged on the opposite wall in Hideo's office.
On the screen was a montage of my missions, all recorded, all identifying me as the assassin. I watched a clip show of my greatest hits—and even my embarrassing missteps—all simultaneously. It was a stunning overload of deja vu. But I couldn't yet understand just what Aiden was getting at with all of this. I asked, and he just smiled that hideous smile all the wider.
"What we do, we do in the shadows, but there is a real need for it. Why? Did you ever ask yourself that? No. You're like everyone else. You just do what you're told." He shook his head, and I was getting pretty fucking tired of his patronizing tone. "Hideo's missions...they don't achieve anything more than appeasing some rich assholes...rearranging the pieces on a board that's never going to change. So much for the revolution." I didn't disagree with him.
"But you don't plan a coup by telling everyone about it. And if I were being honest, I'd have to admit that this wasn't my idea. I think you know the person behind it...Toby Monroe." Oh, now I was pissed off! "I suppose that we kind of found each other. I did some snooping on you early into your academic career. Lots of inconsistencies. Lots of unknowns. And I suppose that must have caught Toby's attention. He reached out to me in my darkest hour...alone, abandoned by the society and family that was supposed to protect me, ready to discard me because I spoke up for myself, even if in anger...and even if I made a mistake about how I expressed it." There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, belying the aggressive posturing.
"He showed me how I could...find myself...just like you did. He said that there was nothing to be ashamed of in being true to yourself, in admitting that everyone else is wrong, and that you are right. Not just going along with what everyone tells you about what you should believe in. But shame is a foreign concept to someone who hasn’t experienced what I have. Let me help you understand." Aiden pointed at me, then waived his hand over toward the screen. My archived missions, in all of their bloody glory and grotesqueness, were replaced with an abundance of media broadcasts on the net and television...everywhere. Oh no, Aiden. What have you done?
He just outed me to the world. Yet I wasn't afraid for myself; no, he…just condemned our parents. They would be identified as "conspirators" to these killings, and their lives would be forfeit in retaliation. Did he even realize this in all of his hatred?
Aiden had done what none of the other assassins before him could. He had ended my career as one and put the eyes of the world on me to bring me to “justice”. There would be a bounty on my head any second now from corporations bent on getting vengeance for the slaughter of their undesirable VPs...even if it was only a superficial gesture to mask their true intentions.
And the moment that I realized this, a metal rod leapt outward from Aiden's baggy sleeves, and extended out to a full-sized bō staff. It glowed with an electrical pulse at the tip, and Aiden thrust it straight toward my heart. He narrowly missed, but the massive electrical charge staggered me. I dropped my rifle and staggered out the door, back into the bar, desperately trying to stay upright. I crashed onto the floor but picked myself up as fast as humanly possible. My life was in jeopardy, and none other than my own flesh and blood was ready to send me packing.
My heartrate was fluctuating rapidly, and it was only thanks to my training with India that I was able to stabilize it. I heard Aiden cursing behind me. Did something in his plan go wrong? I turned back to see that he was now wearing thin spectacles and moving menacingly toward me with the charged staff. I recovered just a split second before he swung his staff at me again, just as I cartwheeled backward out of danger. I could have killed Aiden. I think I could have, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Strangely, it appeared that neither could he. After all, he didn't pick up my rifle, nor did he brandish a firearm himself. Or was he toying with me? Was that really any better? His lunges with the staff seemed to favor the electrical tip, and it clearly packed a nasty punch. I was stuck trying to figure out why he was so fixated on hitting me in the heart with it. And unfortunately the kevlar body armor did little to protect it from a direct impact.
I assumed my fighting stance, raising my arms outward and bending my elbows upward so that my hands were approximately at the same level as my face, while extending my left leg slightly forward, with both knees bent. He swung at me and crashed his staff into an already wrecked bar as I dodged the attack. I caught his next swing between the blades on the bracer which I lifted off of Goram. "So, you've eliminated my instructor already? Score a point for big sis!" Just as I was preparing to deliver an elbow strike, Aiden kicked me in the stomach, freeing his staff and giving me a brief bout of retching in return. No wonder why his fighting seemed so familiar! Goram had trained Aiden?! And I didn't know about it?
I did a kip-up to stand from prone, and feinted running toward him. I slid under him and tried to lock my legs around his to perform a double leg takedown, but he leapt into the air, and thrust his staff down at me, narrowly missing my shoulder blade. I rolled past his strike, and maintained "continuous motion", or retsev, by rolling out of the way of his subsequent lunge then going back on the offensive. I went for a leg sweep afterward, but Aiden was, if nothing else, agile. He leapt out of the way of my strike again, clearly aware of the benefits of using a staff.
I chucked a broken chair at him to try to break down that defense, which only bought me a fraction of a second to close in. In that millisecond, I launched a spinning outside slap kick. It connected, but instead of resisting like I expected Aiden to do, he let the momentum push him further away from me than I would have liked. Damn it. He knew what I was trying to do...at least his smirk (which I was really growing to hate, mind you) said plenty on that. I was beginning to believe that Aiden was deliberately trained to negate my own training...like an anti-Gena or something. He spit out some blood and held his staff out to keep me at a distance...again.
I was at a disadvantage. I didn't bring a weapon that could effectively compete with a bō in close quarters, considering that I didn't want to wound Aiden. Too bad that the feeling wasn't mutual. I was also struggling to get in close enough to really unleash a bevy of blows to disable him. I weighed my options. I could try to take him down, but what would I even do with him if I disabled him? Tie him up? Where would I take him? How would I take him on a motorcycle? No...I had no choice. I decided. I ran. But before I did, I had one little trick up my sleeve, literally. I released a zipper on one of the pockets on the wrist of the armor that I was wearing. A hundred little smoke pellets ejected and went to work immediately. It was enough to aggravate my little brother and allow me to make my escape. But not before I dashed past Sanjay’s corpse. He had one last thing that I needed.
But that left the problem of "what next"? And as if in reply, I received a private, encrypted message: sender unknown. It wasn't the mystery of the sender that intrigued me as much as the contents of the message. It was a set of coordinates and a name. The coordinates led to a remote, off the beaten path location deep in the forests of Montana. The name: Toby Monroe. Either someone was protecting me from afar or this was a trap...and to be honest, I believed in both equally right now.
Chapter 13
Now, you’re probably thinking “Gena, how did you manage to evade capture and death at the hands of all of the various bounty hunters and authorities after you when you got away from Aiden?” Well, about that…I managed to stay literally under the radar of the assorted corporate campuses en route to Montana, largely by keeping outside of their operating radii. You see, one detail I neglected to mention (apologies for that) was that these assorted corporate campuses and mega-businesses had fundamentally become the equivalent of what could best be described as a “city-state”. They adhered to a certain loose confederacy of rules between them but enacted their own laws and protocols. It just so happened that these laws were virtually the same everywhere you went. People’s identity rings (which for the record were also made of an expandable synthetic alloy so that you didn’t have to replace them with weight fluctuations) served as a kind of “passport” between these locations. I suppose I didn’t bring it up because I took it for granted. As I look back on things now, I’m amazed at how much I took for granted.
I’ll never know if my words and my thoughts will ever mean anything to anyone else. Nancy used to tell me that “history” was a collection of events told to people of the present by those who wanted the past to be remembered a certain way. She said that those in power, the winners, got to decide who remembered what…but that wasn’t always the whole story. Often times, the history we were given was the exact opposite of the truth. But before all of this, I was one of those who just believed that things were always just a certain way. I mean, yeah, I was a bit of a rebel, so I never really conformed to it all…but in truth, I kind of did. Nancy thought that there was something “evil” about distorting the past…pretending that something never happened or telling people it happened differently than it really did. She had to explain “evil” to me, by the way.
Oh, right! Evading capture. Sorry. I guess I’m still letting all of this sink in…how different everything has become.
So remember when I said that I “needed something” from Sanjay…or what was left of him, really? Well, his identity ring was going to be my ticket out of this life. Or at least a useful enough short-term form of camouflage until he was reported missing. That gave me about a day or so…long enough to make my way along the abandoned highway system toward Montana. To be honest, I was surprised at how easy it was to make this work. Our society’s framework was predicated on a few things which were surprisingly easy to overcome. The only catch here was that I needed to discard my actual identity ring entirely, or I might as well have not done it at all.
It was a strange feeling. It begins to feel a lot like it’s an actual part of your body. You’re marked by it, and it’s how you know your place in the world. Without it, you don’t belong; worse, you’re treated as actively hostile, or like a criminal, which (strictly speaking) you kind of are. I never used to question it. I never used to think about whether it was right to have your entire public record and worth coded into a little computer chip embedded within a conductive gemstone/polymer compound. But that was the world we lived in…or rather, the world I used to live in.
As I sped away from the GE University corporate campus for the last time, I chucked the damn thing in the gutter. I guess I was just another dropout and I couldn’t have cared less. I had bigger priorities.
The first problem was that I had no idea how or why I was given a name and address. Who sent it? What was their intent? So I had to go into this guarded…suspicious. My impulse was to say that Toby sent it himself and was trying to lure me into some dastardly bit of misfortune. I also wondered if Aiden sent it but considering how furious he was when I left him, I doubted that he had the mental clarity to send anything that would have been neutral in any sense.
That left me wondering about the only player left on the board not accounted for: Hideo. But why would Hideo send me something about Toby. Weren’t they allies? And then I remembered something Aiden let slip: he said “coup”. Why that word? Did he mean that Toby was planning some kind of insurrection? Was there some schism between him and Hideo? And how did I factor into it? But if that was all there was to it, why wasn’t Hideo at his own base of operations when I assaulted it? Something still didn’t sit well about all of this, but the more I considered that Hideo sent me the message, the more I wanted to believe that he wanted me to go after Toby, regardless of who benefited from it. One thing that I was sure of though: Toby would probably not be happy to see me. After all, given the chance, I was going to blow the fucker away.
***
Travelling to Montana was like travelling to another planet. It took me to places that I didn’t think existed in my world anymore. See, the part of the world that I lived in was hyper-industrialized. Very few people even bothered to venture off of the beaten path; that was where “danger” lived…or so we were told. It took me the better part of two days to make my way across the countryside to where the coordinates indicated that I should go. I figured out that this must be the Freemen community, even before I saw some unusual markings en route. Symbols that I had never seen before…a code that clearly was designed to mean something to only those in the know, of which I was not.
It was around this time that another thought came to me. Regardless of who sent me the message, it was very likely that Toby would be where I was going, more or less. That meant that he was ahead of me. And if I was going to the Freemen camp, then it stood to reason that Toby would be among them. And I remembered that he was tight with them…and I was not. Furthermore, if Toby gave them any indication that I wasn’t friendly, I couldn’t very well expect to be greeted with open arms. In other words, I had to treat my journey as one into hostile territory.
And that’s where it got even more complicated. Even if the Freemen were hostile to me now, my hopes were that I could convince them that if Toby had told them that I was an enemy that he was lying. And I had absolutely no idea how that was going to happen. And considering how I used to think of the Freemen as criminals and rejects of society (although I knew better now), I could only imagine what they must have thought of a “city girl” like me.
***
After the second carving I noticed, I opted not to press my luck by attracting anymore unwanted attention toward myself than I absolutely needed. I walked my motorcycle toward a wooded area and covered it in a big pile of leaves and branches. It wasn’t exactly perfectly hidden, but it would have to do for now.
I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I did bring my SIG Sauer with me, along with the metal claws which (ironically) Goram gave to me, not to mention my ever-present tactical knife. I had to treat this like a mission, with the crucial differences being that I was not trying to cause any collateral damage at all. It didn’t help that the environment was totally foreign to me. These were vast, open woodlands, stretching out as far as the eye could see. To help identify any markings that might be useful to me, I activated an imaging program in my helmet, searching for any kinds of markings that might otherwise go unnoticed. Fortunately, I found some and tracks to boot (no pun intended). They were very faint, or old, but they at least were headed in the direction of the coordinates I was given. My conclusion was that they belonged to the Freemen…or at least they led to their camp.
***
The first signs of life I found were not people; they were cows. I had never seen a real cow before, but here I was staring right at a massive creature on four hooves with (honestly) one of the sweetest expressions on its face that I had ever seen. They were all brown, and there were these little nubs on the top of its head where I guessed that its “horns” must have been. I wonder what happened to them. There were several more, just grazing in a big, all-too-open-for-comfort meadow. There were a few clouds in the sky…something else that I hadn’t seen before in the cities. Like the cows, they were just lazily passing me by.
Everything felt so peaceful…seductively so. I felt like a real stranger in my hard-edged body armor and helmet. I took them off in that field. Stupid, I’m sure India would have said, but these were cows! Actual cows! How could I not feel like I was among “all creatures great and small” as Nancy called it? I didn’t want to give my position away, but there was real grass beneath my toes. There was real fresh air. There was a real world here…finally the one that Nancy told me about. I always wanted to see it. I giggled. I laughed. I rolled around on the earth…I narrowly dodged something the cow left behind. I guess not all of nature was lovely.
Aside from sheltering under an overpass on the highway system for sleep, this was the first actual semblance of comfort I had enjoyed since…since Aiden sent me Nancy’s video. Oh wow…I had been going hard for days. I was starving. Nancy told me that you could “milk” a cow by pulling on its nipples, but I used to think that she was flirting with me when she told me that. But eyeing my bovine companions, I was wondering if it might work. I brought some appetite suppressants and stimulants, but evidently their effectiveness had reached the limit. And it wasn’t until right now that I realized just how tired I was. And stupid me, I fell asleep.
***
I woke up in loose fitting clothing. I suppose that was better than waking up naked given the circumstances. The rest wasn’t such a blessing. I was sitting in a chair, my arms tied behind it, and three people were seated opposite of me. I couldn’t quite tell who they were, or even if they were men or women, since they had a spotlight trained on my face. But one of the voices I knew…too well. And a pit in my stomach grew to the size of a canyon. I fucked up.
“This is the one I told you about, Marlon. She’s responsible for your daughter’s death.” Toby. “And now, she’s coming to kill me, too, and probably everyone else here, thanks to Hideo.” I was still a little groggy, but I could tell that he was waiving my own knife at me while telling Nancy’s dad what a horrible person I was.
“You may be right, Toby. I hate to admit it, but you may be right.” The man in the center, who must have been Marlon, stood up and walked into the light. He approached me and knelt down. I saw the face of a man who the years had hardened. A grizzled complexion. Salt and pepper hair clipped short. A beard just as short to match, in style and color. He wore a plaid shirt that looked like it was made from some soft yet sturdy material. It had leather elbow patches, which decidedly did not match the color of his tweed belt. He wore jeans that looked like they had survived for a hundred years…and they probably had. And boots that housed feet twice the size of mine. Here was a giant of a man, and his eyes held a sadness that filled me with grief. This was how I was to meet Nancy’s father for the first time?
“Don’t get too close, Marlon. I mean it. I showed you the videos, remember?” Wait, Toby showed him my assassination videos? “She’s Hideo’s personal hired killer. You saw what she can do with just a knife. I mean, you remember that woman from The Tencent School for Higher Learning who she killed with just a paperweight, right?! How horrible!”
“I remember. All of it.” Marlon continued to inspect me. He put his rough hands along my cheek and turned my head back and forth. “Agatha, what’re you thinking?”
“I don’t know what to think about all of this,” the third person behind the lights replied, who must have been Toby’s wife and Nancy’s aunt. “It’s just…why was she laying naked in the cow pasture? Is she sick? That outfit didn’t look too comfortable on her, anyway.”
“Just because she’s a murderous psychopath,” Toby answered—his patronizing tone of voice evident to me, even if not to his wife—“doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have her limits. I told you about this coming three days ago, when I came back here, remember? She’s been gunning for me ever since, and I’m sure that was Hideo’s intent all along. She had always been jealous of Nancy. I think she even had…feelings…for your daughter, Marlon…if you get my drift?” Was…was he actually trying to make it seem like that was weird or something? “So when Nancy didn’t return those feelings, she convinced Hideo that she was some kind of ‘defector’ or something, and had her ambushed.” I was feeling more and more disgusted with every word coming out of this little turd’s mouth. And everything I was suspicious of before was becoming crystal clear…even if it was probably too late to do anything about it.
“But,” Agatha meekly inquired, “Hideo’s our friend. I mean, he helped found this refuge with my brother. Why would he suddenly turn on us?”
“Because it wasn’t sudden, sweetheart. Haven’t I been telling you both for the last year that he’s lost the horizon? All he does is take more and more jobs for the same corporations he had always professed to want to tear down. And he gets richer and richer off of it all. And do we ever see a penny of it?”
“You know that isn’t why we agreed to work with him on this in the first place, Toby,” Marlon interjected. I gathered that there was an ideological dispute between not just Toby and Hideo, but with Marlon as well about how they should be conducting their business. “Money was never what we were after.”
“Yeah, yeah, Marlon. You’ve told me a thousand times.” I could see Marlon biting his tongue a bit, even though he didn’t seem like the kind to do that naturally. “But we can agree that without external support, the corporations would come down on us like a hawk. Everyone would be put to the sword.”
“…So you’ve reminded me.” Marlon stood up and returned to his seat. I could no longer see his expression, but the one he left me with told me that he and Toby probably rarely agreed about anything.
“So we’re agreed,” Toby concluded. “We have to kill her.”
“No,” Marlon weighed in. “…not yet, at least. I want to find out just what she knows.”
“What’s to know?!” Toby shouted as he stood up violently from his seat. “Nothing she says can be trusted! You know what she and Hideo did to Nancy! I cared for her, too! I never wanted this to happen when I agreed to be a go-between for us.”
“Your memory is short on that, Toby,” Marlon retorted. “Seems to me that you were the one wanting to keep one foot in our old way of life.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Agatha pleaded. I’m guessing this wasn’t the first time she was left to be the peacekeeper. “Toby is right, Marlon, that we do need to decide what’s to be done with this woman.”
“Agreed. And in time,” Marlon decreed. Toby threw his hands up and walked out. The other two followed him moments later, turning off the light as they went, leaving me alone in the dark to consider just how my story was going to end.
Chapter 14
The room that the Freemen kept me in was little more than a shed. There were no windows, which concerned me, but I could still hear the activity outside through the wooden walls. They included the sounds of assorted animals, although I didn’t know how those sounds corresponded with each animal. I imagined what some of them looked like. It would turn out that I was pretty close to what I imagined when I eventually did get to see them. Of course, that leads me to how I escaped in the first place.
The absolute last thing I expected to find in the shed was something I could use to cut myself loose. Whether it was an oversight or deliberately left for me, there was a shard of glass in the corner of the room which I almost cut my face on. How did I manage that? Well, I wasn’t planning on just sitting there waiting for something to happen to me, so I dropped down as quietly as I could, and started feeling around on the floor for something I could use to free myself. I was a little puzzled about why there was glass in here; after all, there were no windows. But that wasn’t a thought I was planning on having much of in that moment.
A few minutes later, the rope was frayed enough for me to pull it apart. Something also puzzled me. There was a little bit of black tape along the wider part of the shard, which saved me from cutting myself on it. Another peculiar bit of good fortune.
Of course, freeing my hands didn’t mean that I was free from imprisonment. I took the opportunity to feel just what I was wearing. It was…a dress. A long dress, but it was soft. I wondered how it looked in the light. I bet it had flowers on it. Not really my style, but to be fair, it was decent of them to put something on me. I just hoped that Toby wasn’t the one who found me. Since I didn’t feel like I had been molested anywhere, I had to assume that it wasn’t him.
And then I wondered if it was Nancy’s dress. I sniffed the fabric, and almost immediately tears welled up in my eyes and I started to cry. It took all I could do to push that down, however, because I knew that I had to figure out a way to get out of here. Any hint of a plan that I once had was long gone. The only thing I was sure of was that being out of the shed was better than being in it.
The floor was wood, and I felt more than a little give as I walked on it. And one of the planks was a bit loose. Quietly, I pulled the plank out with my fingers. There was about a half of a meter’s worth of clearance between the floor and the dirt below. If I could just pull out one more board, I could probably squeeze through and crawl my way out when the coast was clear. Wiggling the adjacent board for about five minutes gave me the opening that I needed.
The dirt was dry, thankfully, although I felt a bit guilty about messing up the dress. (It did have flowers on it.) From below the shed, I had a perfect 360-degree vantage point of…everyone’s feet. Still, better than nothing. I saw that there were, in fact, two guards positioned on opposite sides of the door to the shed. I could make out several small buildings…cabins, maybe…at different points on the left and right. I could see some bushes decorating the small houses. I could see people’s boots, sandals, and so forth moving to and fro, maybe a couple of dozen people or so, wishing everyone a good night. It was getting to be evening, so everything was a little dim as the sun was setting. This was good because it meant that I would be able to sneak out more easily under the cover of night. All I had to do was wait…and hope with every fiber of my being that no one would come to see me before then.
***
Night came, and the guards were relieved. This was my chance. In the faint glow of lamplight from the cabin windows, I could see that no one else was passing by this shed at the moment. On my belly, I practically slithered my way toward the largest grouping of bushes I had seen and hid behind them, hoping that the light coming from the window above me would instead cast a broad enough shadow to make me more difficult to see. So far, so good.
I saw that the two people, one man and one woman, guarding the shed were armed with what I would now call somewhat archaic rifles. They were likely single shot bolt action rifles, and they were probably generally used for hunting animals instead of people. (Nancy explained the process of hunting to me a while back; it took me a solid week to understand its purpose, however.)
Although I was tempted to produce a distraction to make sneaking easier, I realized that this was stupid. The act of creating a distraction would only make them more likely to investigate if something had happened to me. Throwing rocks to turn heads wasn’t going to save me here. So I waited for the inevitable conversation between the guards to mask my movement a bit better. It took all of five minutes before the guards started conversing, and about none other than “you know who”, no less.
“Do you really think she was sent here to kill us like Toby says?” the man asked. He had a cap with a brim on his head; it said something like “Rangers”.
“No. But I wonder how she found us. Really, our location should be secret. Since it clearly ain’t, yeah, I’ve got to consider all possibilities.” The woman had shoulder length red hair. It curled a bit at the ends. She was wearing a shirt kind of like Marlon’s, and had a small, white cylinder sticking out of the side of her mouth, emanating smoke.
Under the cover of their conversation, I rounded the corner of the cabin. I peeked inside for a moment. There was a family of five inside playing a game at a long, rectangular table. A man and woman, with three young children, two boys, one girl. They would pick up these small plastic pieces, and put little pegs in them, and spin some kind of dial in the center of a game board. They’d cheer every time the kids spun that dial. I had never seen a family have so much fun in my life. How I wished that my mother and father could be here…could live in a place like this. How I wished that they could be free! Small chance of that after what Aiden did.
It was so hard, but I had to relinquish my view of the game and continue my escape. The community was laid out in a pattern that seemed to defy expectations. I would have expected a symmetrical grid, but this almost looked like it was developed to exist around the trees. It occurred to me that the canopy must give them some kind of protection from prying eyes flying high above, but I couldn’t say how much of this was true for sure. Still, that gave me some greater measure of comfort that I would be less likely to be seen.
Just before I was out of earshot of my guards’ conversation, I heard none other than Marlon’s voice instruct them to open the door. I could still see the entrance way from my vantage point, which at this point was roughly ten meters away from where I started. Both Marlon and Toby walked into the shed; both were armed with shotguns. And a split second later, I could hear Toby cry out, “well, where the fuck is she?!” A brief pause, then, “God damn it, Marlon! I told you…I told you one of us should stay with her!” Both of them bolted out of the shed.
Marlon retrieved a firearm from his coat pocket, but it was bright orange with a massive barrel…something I hadn’t seen before. He fired it straight up into the air through a clearing in the canopy, and a glowing light shot upward, ignited, and descended slowly down toward them, illuminating the camp while casting a great deal of unnerving shadows. Shit, this was bad. I wasn’t going to have a lot of luck moving around and staying hidden in this kind of illumination.
“Split up!” Marlon shouted. By this point, virtually everyone from the assorted cabins had congregated around Marlon. He continued to issue orders with a booming voice. “Everyone grab a weapon and spread out! Find the girl! She should be considered very dangerous, so…”
“Use extreme prejudice when dealing with her,” Toby interrupted. “She cannot be allowed to leave. Your lives and those of your loved ones depend on it!” The crowd began to disperse and began searching high and low for me. I would be found at this rate and quickly. I had one last chance to do what I came here to do and that meant that I had to follow Toby.
I watched him walk with determination toward one of the cabins on the outskirts of the camp, away from the rest of the Freemen. Good. If I could sneak my way toward him and ambush him, I could take him down unseen and unheard. Then I could leave…but where would I go? I didn’t have time for these thoughts. All I had time for was to clear the distance between me and that far-off cabin…the one looking like it was hiding away from everything else…and finish what he started.
My heart was in my throat as I crept through the undergrowth. I heard some kind of barking…wait, Nancy told me about these. Cats? No, dogs! Wait, dogs meant that they could sniff me out. I hurried toward that shed and saw that even though Toby had gone inside, he hadn’t yet turned on the lights. The door was left open. He must have been in too much of a hurry tracking me down. Hatred makes people do stupid things. I crept in and prepared to lunge.
BANG!
Toby was no marksman, but with a shotgun, you don’t have to be. The left side of my face felt like someone had held it to a frying pan for about a week. Flesh ripped off from the glancing blow from the buckshot, which mercifully lacked the velocity necessary to crack the bones in my skull. But the same could not be said of my left eye which lacked the same fortitude. I would never see out of that eye again for the rest of my life…which by all accounts was looking to end in mere moments.
Chapter 15
It was all that I could do to keep from just grabbing my face and screaming, because that would have cost me valuable time, during which Toby would have surely blown my head off with the second shell chambered in his shotgun. I threw myself out of the entrance way and made a mad dash—well, more like a crawl, really—into the woods draped in the dark of night. The second shot went off just moments after I blinked out of his line of fire.
The blasts didn’t sound as loud as a shotgun should. That was surprising. But as I crept into the undergrowth, clutching my face and wincing with pain, through my good eye I thought I saw a suppressor attached to the end of the shotgun. He wanted some privacy with me, and I dreaded to think of why. At least, he didn’t want any company.
“Gena.” Toby’s voice was eerily calm for someone who I had no suspicions had any combat training. “I want you to understand something before you die. This...all of this...it’s your fault.” I wasn’t able to strike back. Shit, I was barely mobile in the first place. I felt like if I let go of my face, it would all just fall off. I...I wasn’t going to make it without medical attention, and soon. So it suddenly made sense: Toby was literally going to talk me to death.
“I never thought of you as a genius, Gena, but that’s why I selected you in the first place. Problem is, you were still too smart for your own good.” Branches crunched beneath his boot heels...slow, steady paces through the brush, with the sounds of searching and the glow of lights far off...too far off from us. “And worse, you were unappreciative. When someone gives you a gift, you...thank them. I gave you the chance to thank me, Gena, and you abused me. You made an enemy out of someone better than you. So that brings me back to whether you are smart or not.” I imagined that smarmy mug grinning, thinking that he was in control of the situation. Unfortunately, he was.
“You should know that what happened to Nancy was supposed to happen to you. You don’t get to be where I am today without making important...connections. You should have been reduced to ashes.” I was still confused on that detail, and as if Toby had truly begun reading my thoughts, he answered as I crept as quietly as I could through the darkness, my blood ruining Nancy’s lovely flower dress even more than the dirt.
“The buttons you girls swallowed...they are a fail-safe. My design but set to Hideo’s parameters. When your heart rate reaches zero beats per minute, they are activated. From that point on, whoever transmits a subsonic frequency to that button can cause a chemical to be released into the blood stream which reacts...shall we say...intensely. This ensures that the bodies of our assassins could not be sufficiently identified were they to fall in the line of duty.” This made sense as to why Aiden was driven—even at the expense of more practical means—of delivering an electric shock right to my heart, except...wait, why didn’t he just use a gun, instead?
Toby continued to stalk me through the woods. Light was fading all around us. I saw a faint greenish light from where I approximated Toby’s skull to be. Oh fuck, he brought night-vision goggles. This was getting better and better.
“But what was so ironic,” Toby continued, “is that Hideo was so set on training his little ‘ninja’ squad so perfectly that there was never cause to use it. That’s why he assigned each mission personally...he always wanted to coddle you little brats, so the first time it was ever used in the field...was with Nancy. And you know what the funny part was?” He allowed himself a dramatic pause as he loaded the chamber of his shotgun. “Hideo didn’t pull the trigger. I did. But you left me no choice!” He fired another suppressed blast, but it was far too wide from my location. That reassured me, even if only for a moment, that despite his advantages, he hadn’t figured out where I was hiding. But that wouldn’t last. He kept talking...rubbing in just how fucked I well and truly was. He was giving away his position, but he knew all too well that I was out of options to turn the tides. It was like with Goram again, but this time, I had nothing...not even a complete face anymore.
“You know, your idiot brother actually believed that the buttons were meant to deliver a paralyzing agent to the central nervous system, so that when your heart rate was restored, you’d be completely at his mercy.” So Aiden didn’t want to kill me...but he could have fooled me. I hoped that meant that there was some chance left of bringing him back to his senses.
“I suppose I should thank you, Gena, if only for one thing. You set my plans into motion…” Another shotgun blast...closer now. “You motivated me to accelerate my contingency plans. You see, Hideo could never really see the truth. You can’t fight progress. And like it or not, you have to control the system from within, not try to sabotage it to bring it down. For a while, I was sure that I had convinced him to stop his petty, costly guerrilla tactics and make a real business out of his enterprise. That’s when you came into it. But he would never really let any of his soldiers fall. And that was his pride talking. A soldier only has one job: to die for his cause. There’s no room for soft hearts. You need to climb the tree of prosperity and take the apple that grows from it for yourself, not chop it down because you don’t like the color of its leaves.” I was surprised by the metaphor; Toby really didn’t seem the type. I heard him load another couple of rounds into his gun. He was nearly on top of me.
“But Hideo was always too trusting. He never even considered that I would betray him. Luckily, not all of his agents were exactly what I’d call a ‘brain trust’. Goram, notably. So fiercely loyal and driven for blood that all it took was a coded message ostensibly from Hideo identifying you as traitors to set him on the warpath. Since you’re here, it’s clear that he died for nothing.” I almost felt sorry for Goram, now...but only almost. It’s true; he must have been more cunning than smart. Didn’t he remember that Hideo only gave his missions in person?
As close as Toby was, my right arm reached for something...anything that I could use, even as feeble as it might be, as a weapon. I found a tree branch, about ten centimeters in diameter, and almost a meter long. Great...I had a stick. I was so dead. I just didn’t know it yet.
“The only thing I hadn’t planned on was your dumb brother outing you publicly. He must have really hated you and his parents to do something like that. No matter. I’ll find some way to put his...enthusiasm to good use, before I ultimately dispose of him.” Calm, Gena, calm. He’s trying to get you upset...and he’s doing a fucking good job at it! The glow of Toby’s goggles were so close that I could see its three deathly green lights searching for me. They weren’t staring in my direction...yet. But I had to duck down to avoid being seen at all; otherwise, I’d surely give my position away. There was nothing to do but curl up in the dark, the blood on my face growing colder and colder, my breathing and heartbeat becoming slower. Everything was growing ever darker.
“There’s no way that Hideo doesn’t know that I’ve betrayed him by now. No matter. The Freemen are my family. They trust me. There’s no way that they’d believe an outsider over me. I can use that...just like I used you, Gena. When Hideo comes—and he will—we will be ready for him. I’ll tell everyone that he was a traitor...that he sent you to infiltrate us...to kill us. And you won’t be able to say any different, because you’ll be dead.” Though my hearing was failing, I heard Toby chamber the shells like before. I tried to heft the log, but he kicked it from my hand with more ease than I would like to admit. I had no strength left.
This was it. I was going to die here in the woods. Toby pressed his shotgun down hard on my chest. There would be no misfires now.
“Goodbye, Gena. You brought this on yourself.”
BANG!
Blood splattered my face...Toby’s blood. That wasn’t the sound of a shotgun; it was a single shot bolt action rifle, like the kind the guards were carrying. Toby collapsed onto my left side, but I was already going into shock. The last thing I heard before oblivion claimed me was a woman—Agatha—saying, “’till death do us part.”
***
When I did wake up, I was lying in an unfamiliar bed. I couldn’t really feel anything, but I could tell that I wasn’t restrained or anything like that this time. It was a bright room. There were white curtains all around the bed, but lights running across the wooden ceiling made everything feel very bright. My mouth was very, very dry and my face was itchy. And...I couldn’t see out of my left eye. I sighed. So it wasn’t a nightmare. That happened. My life happened. And somehow, miraculously, it continued.
Out of my remaining eye, I looked down to see myself covered by a pale blue blanket. I pulled it away slightly to see that I was, in fact, wearing a hospital gown beneath it. My left arm had an IV needle stuck into me, and fluids were being pumped into my bloodstream, keeping me healthy...relatively speaking.
A faint beeping sound came from the table on my left. I craned my neck as best as I could to try to see what was causing it...it seemed to match my heart rate. Alas, I couldn’t turn far enough. My head and neck were wrapped up in a significant amount of bandaging. My right hand went up to touch my scalp, only to find that it too was covered. I wondered if my hair was alright. I started to chuckle involuntarily at the absurdity of such a thought in this situation.
Clearly someone felt like it was worthwhile keeping me alive. I had to assume it was the Freemen. And since I assumed that one of them had killed Toby, I also had to assume that although they were planning on keeping me alive, I didn’t know to what end. But since I was here, I was sure that someone was going to tell me. I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.
***
The curtain was pulled back gently. A face I recognized and one that I did not walked into my space and sat down on chairs that they brought with them. The man was Marlon, Nancy’s father. He had a serious, stern look on his face. The other was a woman, with a semi-long bob haircut swooped somewhat to the left. It was blondish-gray, but somehow struck me as “sporty”. She was wearing a beige long cowl neck sweater and dark purple jeans. She had a black armband on her sleeve. Although I had only seen her in silhouette before, I was sure that this was Agatha. She spoke first.
“Hello, Gena. How are you feeling?” There was no sarcasm or derision in her voice, and no semblance of unease or lack of assurance. I decided that she was no enemy...at least, not yet anyway.
“...I’m alive. That’s a start.”
“Yes. You’re alive. And my husband is not. Do you know why?” I shook my head as much as my limited range of motion would allow. “It’s because last week, he confirmed a suspicion I had long held. That he was using us to further his own ambitions. And that he was ready to sacrifice us to that end.” I remembered Toby talking at length about his plans...his vision for the future. And it didn’t matter who died or got hurt in the process.
“Yeah, I...I remember. You...you saved my life.”
“Yes, Gena. I did. I’m sorry that I didn’t save all of you. I…” Agatha sighed, “I had to be sure.”
We sat there in silence for a minute. I spoke next. I had questions, and I’m sure they did too, so we might as well get started.
“I thought you were the leader of the Freemen,” I said, as I pointed to Marlon.
“It’s complicated,” he replied. “...And it’s not. Let me explain. Ten years ago, I found an artifact of the Old World…”
“The bird guide, right? Nancy told me.” Marlon’s eyes watered a bit.
“Right. I didn’t know what to think. I shared what I found with my sister, Agatha.” Marlon held her hand, and she squeezed it. Despite appearances, I could tell that Agatha was really his source of strength, even though he conveyed it more visibly than she did. “She suggested that we carefully begin hinting at it among our friends and loved ones. Obviously I didn’t bring it up to Nancy...not then, she wouldn’t have understood. But I told my wife, Eliza. Nancy looked so like her…” His head fell somewhat. I waited for him to gather his strength back to continue.
“Eliza was a director of supplies and materials for a manufacturing division of a corporation. She used her position to make two things happen. One, she leaked coded messages through the dark web, which was a capital offense in and of itself. But on top of that, she secretly diverted building materials and supplies over a year long period to an off-the-grid drop site. We were gathering supplies to make our exodus...our escape. That’s how Hideo found us.”
“Hideo was young and full of fire then,” Agatha continued where Marlon left off. “He was...is a genius, really. He had escaped from a work camp at the age of eleven and survived in the wilderness as he grew up hard. He was fortunate to discover one of those lost bunkers in the wilds. The ones built in anticipation of the last world war. He taught himself everything he could from the vast library of books and data inside. He traveled the world, even visiting places long since thought uninhabitable, like Asia. But most of all, Hideo loved history. He compared our world to one under an authoritarian dictatorship, and also how we could undermine it. He, Marlon, Eliza, Toby, and I all sat down one fateful evening to discuss what that would include. We...did not agree.”
Now Marlon picked up where Agatha left off. “We did acknowledge that we were all on the same side...at least most of us were, it appears. Hideo said that he would help us with our escape and outfit us with the supplies and equipment we needed. In exchange, we would provide...assets to him to be trained and to become soldiers in his war on the corporate government that had taken over what remained of our planet. He assured us that he would not make the same mistake he had made before, which was trying to assault these corporations through skirmishes...which is how he lost his previous followers. Well, most of them. There was someone called ‘Goram’ who accompanied him like a bodyguard, which Hideo didn’t really need. Needless to say, we couldn’t accept his terms.”
“Eliza made a counter-offer,” Agatha added. “She said that we would maintain a secret operating base in the wilds far from the mega-cities, which would be protected ground for him and his allies at all times. If anyone from the community wished to join Hideo and aid him directly, they were welcome to offer their expertise to that end. Hideo agreed to the compromise, and we set the wheels of our plans into motion. But even then, not all welcomed the paradigm shift.” Agatha lowered her gaze. “And I’m sorry to say that my husband was the most outspoken. He accused us of selfishly trying to uproot him from a ‘promising career’, and that there was no guarantee that we could even survive in the wilds. He threw every paranoid fear at us, from the water being toxic from the nuclear fallout a hundred years ago to Hideo being a double agent trying to get us to expose ourselves to corporate retaliation.” Agatha sighed. “It’s a hard thing to admit that you don’t trust your husband anymore. But we had all seen the lies inflicted upon us with our own eyes. We could never go back to that self-deception. Even if we had to give up a few comforts, there was so much richness in the world waiting to be appreciated...how could we not?”
“The plan was supposed to be flawless,” Marlon went on. “We were being smuggled across the border in a massive convoy of remote-controlled trucks. Hideo had arranged for the trucks to divert from their programmed routes at a point when it would have been impossible to interfere at the company’s command terminal, at which point they would be driven manually out through the abandoned highway system all the way to predesignated coordinates. Aboard the transports were everything from food stuffs and clothing, to building materials, tools, and even embryonic fertilization equipment. In a sense, this was our ‘ark’. Getting the material wasn’t easy, and we had to be extra careful to avoid suspicion. I guess that’s why what happened seemed inevitable at the time…”
“We had a problem,” Agatha clarified. “Somehow, Hideo lost manual control of the trucks. He was not going to be able to divert them at the appointed time. If—and when—it was discovered that they contained contraband after arrival, all parties involved would surely be exposed. That’s when Eliza made her sacrifice.” Marlon turned away, his face in his hand. “She controlled the trucks from the source, but she did so only by holding the rest of the staff responsible for it at gunpoint. Once the job was finally done, she knew that if she were caught, she would be unable to resist the inevitable torture, and would surely give up the location of our secret paradise yet-to-be. So she did the only thing she could think of…” Agatha didn’t need to say what Eliza did to keep their secret.
“It wasn’t until last night that I knew in my heart that Toby was responsible for it all. But back then, we were so grief-stricken and still so sure ourselves that no one spoke up about how it might have gone wrong in the first place. A rift grew between Hideo and Marlon; they blamed each other for the fatal error, but respected that they had achieved the first steps in their respective goals. Toby, on the other hand, became increasingly interested in Hideo’s work. I know that Hideo never liked Toby, but as a pragmatist, he saw the value in his skill as a networker to build the army he needed. Toby became our liaison, our link to the world we left behind. But Toby never left that world. He just brought all of the evil that it stained his soul with along for the ride.”
I cleared my throat, not just because I needed water. Marlon noticed, and poured a cup for me, and helped me take a sip. Then he finished the history of the Freemen.
“When we got here, no one was truly ready to really live off of the land. Hideo was a big help, I have to admit. He showed us how to build in such a way so as to be inconspicuous, using nature to our advantage. I was a quick learner, and because I was the first to discover the artifact—that bird book—I kind of became a de facto leader. But Agatha was always much more clear-sighted than I was. More capable of guiding our little community in ways I could never have understood. So the truth is that she’s really the one who runs things, even if only from the sidelines.”
“Toby fooled us all, Gena,” Agatha leaned in and took my hand. “I wished every day and prayed that I was wrong about him. I started camouflaging my behavior to throw him off of the scent of my ever growing suspicions, and did what I could to hint to Hideo to watch him. I guess I did so too late.”
“No,” I replied. “I get it. I’m not mad at you. I...I underestimated him. He’s...ruined my life...my family.” The tears burned in both eyes, but especially the missing one. I tried to collect myself. “I think...I think that’s why Hideo took me off of the mission where Nancy...I mean, I think he knew, and was hoping for Toby to reveal himself, to cancel the ambush, or something. I just...I couldn’t even believe he did it, knowing what I know now. I mean, family’s the only thing you have when it’s all over. I...I wish I…”
I couldn’t go on. Both Marlon and Agatha held me like I was their daughter. I kept thinking about Aiden and my parents. I didn’t know what was coming next, except that I couldn’t just let Aiden go. He and I...we needed to finish this. I didn’t want to kill him; far from it. But I had to bring him back to his senses. I had to tell him what I learned about Toby, and hope that he would be willing to hear me out and let go of the hatred that consumed him, because it was all a lie. A terrible, cruel lie by a terrible, cruel man who finally got what was coming to him.
I had to go back.
Chapter 16
It wouldn’t be for another week until I left. It wasn’t due to cold feet or anything like that. I simply needed more time to recover. Agatha and Marlon both tried to convince me that I wasn’t ready...that I wasn’t healed up enough yet. They were probably right, but what choice did I have. I had to go get my family...what was left of it anyway. And who knew what problems that would entail.
Before I left, Agatha gave me Toby’s identity ring. She made it clear that she had no sentimental value attached to any of Toby’s rings that he left behind, but that this one would arguably serve two purposes. First and most important, she said, was that it would make it appear—at least to computer sensors—that I was Toby Monroe. That would keep me safe from the automated security systems operating in GE University. Second—and Agatha was less enthused about this—was that it would send a signal to both Hideo and Aiden that I had killed Toby, for whatever that meant to them. I speculated that if Toby had indeed behaved as though he were some kind of a savior for Aiden that this wouldn’t help my cause any when it came time to convince him to forgive me. That almost convinced me to take my chances without it, but I realized that Aiden would find out eventually...and the deception had to end.
I couldn’t wear my helmet anymore. The bandages saw to that, despite being greatly reduced in size and quantity. It amounted to little more than a wrap along the left side of my face, covering my now withered left eye. Agatha told me that it was a miracle that I wasn’t struck blind after suffering the trauma. But luck is something that I’ve come to realize is...ahem...in the eye of the beholder. Yeah, there was that gallows humor again. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t so far gone.
My makeshift armor still fit, even if it was a bit tricky getting into it again. Not just because of the physical trauma I had experienced, but also because of the couple of extra pounds I had put on while recovering. Marlon was a wonderful cook. He made the most amazing thing called “meat loaf” which I now wanted to eat every day for the rest of my life.
I remember asking them for popcorn when they first asked what I wanted to eat. Marlon and Agatha gave each other a knowing glance, which kind of freaked me out. I asked them, “What, it’s not like it’s made out of people or something, is it? Please don’t tell me that!” They laughed to one another, then explained that, no, it wasn’t made out of people. It was just that they were reminded of how it used to be before they escaped, when they realized that popcorn was just a super-cheap food stuff that could be pumped full of vitamins and artificial flavoring. The popcorn we knew was designed to deny people of the great experience that cooking and partaking in a wonderful meal truly meant. It was hollow sustenance for a hollow society.
I was lucky where the motorcycle was concerned on two counts. One, Marlon was indeed a skilled mechanic. He was responsible for maintaining the solar generators that kept power circulating through the community, but was also able to tune up my motorcycle. Second, and more important, he installed a series of switches on the operating panel, which he explained to me was an emergency escape system, if I were ultimately discovered by the security drones in GE University.
There were three switches, color coded: green, yellow, and red. The green switch transitioned the fuel source for the bike from electricity to something he called “diesel”, which made the bike smell really funky, by the way. He said that this was from a very limited stash of “fossil fuels” which Hideo gave to them, and which Marlon was finally happy to find a use for. The yellow switch caused a series of panels covering the bike to fly off, revealing a strange, shiny metal covering virtually the entire motorcycle beneath it. Marlon called this stuff “mu metal”, which immediately brought to mind those cows I saw when I first arrived here. He said this was a “Faraday cage”, but I didn’t understand what that was, so he simplified it by saying that it would protect me and the bike when I threw the third switch. He said that when I did that, the bike would discharge an EMP pulse from the rear, disabling any electronic equipment not otherwise protected by the Faraday cage within a one-hundred and fifty meter radius. He warned me to be extra careful because I’d probably feel very wobbly after using it, so he recommended slowing down to a crawl before attempting it. I told him that I hoped that it wouldn’t even come to that.
I bid farewell to Agatha, Marlon, and the rest of the community, which had come to meet me and see how I was feeling. I admit, I was guarded at first. After all, I didn’t know anybody here, and given how much abuse my trust had taken lately, it was hard not to be cautious. Regardless, they greeted me as warmly as if we were already family. It made me wonder how Nancy could have even thought of leaving. But like Warren—the same guy with the Rangers cap—told me, “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence”. It was going to take some time to get used to all of the aphorisms, but right now, all I could think about was finding Aiden. I learned about most of my caretakers, their names, interests, hobbies, even their former lives. I learned that one of them used to do make up and costumes for stage productions in their old life. I asked if he still had any face masks from that time period, which fortunately he did.
They gave me back my weapons when I was ready to leave, even though I hoped that I wouldn’t need to use them. Armed and ready—as ready as I was going to be—I set off once again across the country.
***
I rode into town wearing a full-face mask. It was high quality synthetic rubber and wasn’t too uncomfortable. It fit nicely, but more importantly concealed that I had bandages covering half of my head. That was important because even if the identity ring would identify me as someone for whom it would not be suspicious to travel between the corporate city universities, bandages implied some failing or act of violence or accident, all of which would immediately draw the attention of the authorities. See, people in these worlds just didn’t suffer wounds like these. If they did, they were sent “somewhere else”. Mistakes were not allowed. Flaws were forbidden. Wow...I was starting to really feel like this place where I spent almost two years of my life was a nightmare realm of tyranny and sadness...hostile territory, which it was.
Short of ideas, I returned to the ruin of the bar...the bar that I ruined, that is. But this time, I didn’t go in the front door right away. I scouted the perimeter for any sign that someone was watching. I didn’t see anyone on the roof, in the alleys, or anywhere else. More importantly, I didn’t see any kind of corporate surveillance, either. I guess something that happened over two weeks ago was old news.
Confident that I wasn’t being watched, I went inside. It was eerie. Instead of any kind of residual mess, the entire place had been restored, almost perfectly, making it look like there had never been any kind of bloodbath. I couldn’t figure it out. Who would bother returning this fake pharmacy to a simulacrum of its former self? But when I thought about it, I realized that the corporate city did all of this. How do you maintain an illusion of safety? Pretend the crime never happened. After all, no one was around when it did, and no one who was lost couldn’t be explained away. But what about the secret passage below? I got my answer when I went into the back room.
Gone. The door leading down into the bar was completely sealed over. So was the metal detector. As though they were never there in the first place. Now the place was nothing more than window dressing. Background for this way of life and those who still dwelt within its confines. But for my purposes, it meant that I wouldn’t be finding Aiden or Hideo here. It turned out that I was half right.
I didn’t know this at the time, but a remote sensor was installed in the pharmacy. That sensor sent a signal to someone, and that someone greeted me as I exited the building with a rocket launcher.
I heard the rocket fire before I saw it and dove out of the way at the last second. I was fine, but wouldn’t you know it? That unlucky pharmacy was just going to have to be rebuilt yet again, because little was left but piles of shattered concrete and melted plexiglass.
I ripped my mask off and turned my good eye up toward the rooftop of a building catty-corner from the wreckage. And I saw that all-too familiar sneer beneath the scope of an M24 sniper rifle. One round hit my left forearm, and again despite the pain, I had to thank India (even though she was gone) for this amazing body armor. But before that, I ducked into one of the alleyways to escape Aiden’s line of fire.
I knew that two things were going to happen. One, Aiden would come down to try to finish the job. Apparently, non-lethal means—intended or otherwise—were now off the table. That told me that he knew that Toby was dead, although I wasn’t sure how he found out just yet. Second, owing to his public display of carnage via the RPG, I was sure that we could expect company in short order.
I saw the bolt from a zipline gun pierce the concrete wall just above me, and a wire trailing upward toward the direction of the rooftop where Aiden ambushed me from. He was being reckless, whether he knew it or not. I didn’t want to kill him, no, but I was growing increasingly comfortable with disabling him. I drew my SIG Sauer, and desperately hoped that he would be reckless enough to let me hit him in the arm, and nowhere more serious. I waited for him to come sliding down that zipline, and even though I knew that the window to fire would be ultra-tight, I trained my pistol on his destination. That was my big mistake.
When I fired, all that I hit was a mannequin...a decoy. Before I knew what was happening, Aiden leapt down from the rooftop above me. His boots smashed into my shoulders, knocking me off-balance, and then he slashed at me with a kukri knife. He cut my armor, which thankfully protected me from anything more than a superficial wound—except it exposed a clear patch of flesh on my left side...which I couldn’t see clearly owing to my impaired vision. And that’s when Aiden brandished his gold filigreed Glock 19x pistol, aimed at my now exposed flesh, and fired. In the pain, I dropped my pistol. Or maybe it was the raw shock of knowing that my brother just put a bullet in me and intended to end my life. Either way, I was bleeding out. And he...he was smiling.
Chapter 17
I believe that this is where we came in.
Aiden was readying his killing blow. He had his pistol pressed against my forehead. I had cheated death already with Toby. I couldn’t count on history repeating itself...or could I? A blur collided with Aiden and plowed him into the brick wall opposite me. Aiden’s gun went off a mere centimeter from my ear. It would take several seconds before my hearing came back, so I didn’t hear what the masked figure said to my brother, as he yanked his arms back behind his body, resting his knee against the base of Aiden’s spine. From what I could gather, though, Aiden’s eyes grew wide, his jaw went semi-slack, and he went as pale as a sheet. Tears welled up in his eyes, and when he dropped to his knees, clutching his face with his hands, only then did the figure remove his mask.
Hideo.
My hearing was coming back, but Hideo wasted no time, and knelt down by my side. He cradled my head in his left hand and withdrew some kind of metal wand from his utility belt with his right. He was dressed in an outfit that was the spitting image of India’s, although his was sized for someone of his physique. The tip of the wand expanded and became something resembling a plunger. He pressed it firmly against my wound, which hurt intensely. But what followed was even more painful. The device began to whir to life, and in one sharp motion, he pulled it away from me with Aiden’s bullet magnetically lodged to the plunger end. And a split second later, he withdrew an emergency medical anesthetic and tissue adhesive combo tool, sterilizing and sealing my wound.
“...no time to delay, Gena. You and your brother must flee right now. The school’s defense drones are inbound and will destroy any anomaly. That includes you and Aiden.”
“Hideo...but I…” He put a hand over my mouth and pointed to my motorcycle.
“Go.” He actually leapt upward several meters, kicked off of the brick building, and used that momentum to propel himself up to the rooftop. And then he was gone. Aiden had started to come to his senses. His face was most definitely not smiling right now, but there was—despite that—a look of...elation.
“Gena...I…” He wanted to say he was sorry. And I was ready to forgive him and all of that, but then I heard that death knell. The gravitronic thrum of dozens of unmanned killing machines less than a kilometer away.
“There’s no time. We have to move. Now!” I grabbed his arm and even though my side was killing me, we raced--limped, if I was being completely honest—to my upgraded motorcycle. I took the front, and Aiden sat behind me. “You know how to ride one of these?” He nodded, and proceeded to wrap his arms around my torso, which only compounded the pain from where he shot me. I winced, but had no time to scream, as a laser blast narrowly missed us both and carved a chunk out of one of the adjacent buildings. The first shot across the bow...a harbinger of death.
I pressed the ignition, and we bolted at breakneck speed through the ravaged streets. Destination: the fuck outta here! The front wheel kicked up from the sudden acceleration, but I had grown used to this baby as of late, so I took control of her like a fierce lover.
This kind of machine was built with speed and aerodynamics in mind. Unfortunately, that meant that I didn’t have the benefit of any kind of way of seeing what was behind me. It was probably for the best. Had I looked back, I might have lost my nerve. Instead, I was relying on sound before unleashing my secret weapon.
Through tight curves and long straightaways, I bobbed and weaved between blasts of high-heat beams of light and watched the so-called defense drones of this nightmare city turn this overly sterile and artificial urban landscape into a warzone. Lasers ripped through cafes and gymnasiums. Manufacturing classrooms and synthetic theaters were shredded and set ablaze. People ran screaming from the robots that seemed more interested in destroying anything that challenged their programmed vision of what reality should be, ambivalent of—no, incapable of—respecting the welfare of the very people who made up that city.
After Aiden had gathered himself, he took the opportunity to lean back and fire off several rounds from his pistol at the drones. Even though they apparently had bulletproof shielding—meaning that despite the so-called illegality of guns, these corporations knew the score—Aiden’s shots managed to disorient the densely packed drones to the extent that when they collided with the others, it created a chain reaction that took out far more than his few bullets ever could.
Gotta love a chain reaction.
As we approached the city limits, the heat of the lasers was so intense that I was beginning to feel my body armor chaffing, I flipped the green switch. I remembered what Marlon said about slowing the bike to a crawl, but this was a risk I was just going to have to take. The drones weren’t going to give us any mercy. I gave it a moment before I felt the engine change over to the auxiliary fuel source before I flicked the yellow switch.
Dozens of panels flew off from my motorcycle, and in the bright sun blazing high in the sky, the bike practically glowed. The Faraday cage was so reflective, that it was almost blinding...but not so much to keep me from throwing that final, red switch.
I felt like I had been thrown into a pool a thousand meters deep. Everything seemed to slow down and shudder. And behind me...quiet. Deathly quiet. Until the simultaneous collision of a thousand mechanical killers slamming into the ground and whatever unfortunate structures nearby just so happened to break their fall. The bike shook and shimmied. It moaned and thrust back and forth, again and again. And then calm...easy riding toward the west and out of the city forever.
I pulled out a pair of sunglasses from my breast pocket and put them on. Then, I leaned into my machine and whispered, “Was it good for you, too?”
***
On our way across the countryside, as the sun was setting, I pulled the bike over along the abandoned highway. Agatha had shared some old maps with me while I was recovering. I guessed that we must have been in what used to be Iowa by the time we stopped...by the time the adrenaline had subsided. I knew of a safe place to stay for the night. But before I took Aiden there, I had questions. I turned to him, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he looked at me with...love in his eyes.
We said, “I’m sorry” at the same time. We needed a moment to gather ourselves. He spoke first.
“They’re safe.”
“Who?” Oh...OH! Our parents! My eyes went wide, although I had to remove my shades for the effect to be known to him.
“Hideo told me that he intercepted their transport to the internment camp and put them in the company of a couple of trusted operatives to take them to safety. They’ll be waiting for us...in Montana.” We both cried and hugged one another. It was over. All of the pain we inflicted on one another. All of the suffering we put our loved ones through. All of the delusions we had about living a life that was never really real. Just a sad and desolate simulation of life. That wasn’t our future anymore. We found something more important. We found our souls. We found each other again.
Epilogue
A year had passed since Aiden and I moved into the Freemen community. He was right; our parents were waiting for us. I expected them to be panic-stricken. They certainly weren’t at ease with everything that had transpired in the past several weeks but seeing us together again brought everything back into orbit.
The Azaria family has since become a valued and contributing new addition to the Freemen. Dad and Mom found their calling in farming. Imagine that? I helped Marlon with handling the technical repairs in and around the facility, while Aiden...Aiden blew us all away. He was right, of course; he was smarter than all of us.
Aiden began a process of cycling the energy circuits of our solar power banks to yield even more efficient output. He found a way of creating a synergistic heating system, which meant that come winter, we didn’t have to be as concerned about conserving our energy usage as much. And it didn’t stop there, oh no! He was able to produce a totally natural soil fertilizer from the available resources and chemicals we had to make our crops not only more abundant, but healthier, too. And he was only getting warmed up.
But the question on everyone’s minds was: “What happened to Hideo?” And on the anniversary of the day when Aiden and I moved into our new home for good, he returned. And when he did, he brought Aiden, Marlon, Agatha, my parents, and me all together to explain.
He said that he needed time to consider his next step very carefully. He said that he learned that no knowledge can come from pride…only from humility. And he had been humiliated to discover just how easily he had let himself be swayed by Toby. He realized that deep down, he was afraid. Not of death, but of failing his mission.
His mission, he said, was ours. We wanted to change the world, just like he had. But in his pride, he had believed that the world could be changed by force, either directly or—in the case of his secret collection of assassins—indirectly. He knew differently now. He realized that only by living your values could you truly change the world, and that was why Agatha, Marlon, and the rest of the Freemen were right where he was so tragically wrong.
After losing too many loved ones in fruitless assaults on the faceless corporations which held the surviving world in chains of complacency and indifference, he considered a new, more subtle strategy. He would train a team of highly skilled assassins, basing their methods loosely on the ninja, a highly specialized type of assassin from ancient Japan. And he would sell their services to pit corporation against corporation, inciting distrust and disharmony, all while reducing their numbers from within at their own behest.
But that wasn’t all. He compiled the data about his clients and those who hired him to perform these murders to use later as leverage. He thought that if he could destabilize the corporate city states to the point where unfettered chaos became the rule rather than the exception, that this reprehensible power elite would lose their grip on society. And that by exposing their hypocrisy and complicity in murder that people would see their oppressors for what they truly are: monsters.
But Hideo was wrong. He said that all it took to show him how easily he had fallen into the swamp himself was Gena. India had approached him following their heart-to-heart conversations, but he was still too proud to tell her that he had doubts about his methods. But Gena’s fierce independence reminded him of himself...or the Hideo he used to be, at least. He sensed something ill at ease. He intended to confide these doubts to Gena and India, despite the unflinching exterior he had cultivated for his image. But then Toby’s scheme led to Nancy’s death, and there was no going back.
Hideo said that when he saw her die, he knew that his mission was a failure. He knew that there would be no way that this could ever work again. But the match was struck, and Toby had already set Goram on a collision course with Gena and India and given Aiden access to the footage necessary to out her in front of the world.
Hideo admitted that he felt powerless...for the first time since he was that scared little boy of eleven trying to survive on his own, he was lost. He decided that if nothing else, he would do what he could to keep our family whole. And to that end, he saved our parents and told Aiden in that alley where it almost came apart entirely something that forever changed Aiden’s world...and may have saved all of ours.
He told him that our parents were alive, yes, but he said something else. He said, “You can let this hate destroy you; but what next? Who will be left to love you when all you have left is ashes? Remember the love you and your family share. You can have it all back, I promise you. It’s not too late. They love you. We love you. We forgive you.”
I forgive you.
They say that only when you're faced with death do you really learn to appreciate life. Propped up against the cold brick wall, my blood dripping out of my side like a leaky faucet, and my own pistol tragically out of reach, I look up with my one good eye remaining and see the face of my executioner. My little brother, Aiden, now a full-fledged assassin of his own. A part of me should be proud of him for having made something of himself, but then again, he's got enough pride for the both of us. His gold filigreed Glock 19x spins on his index finger once or twice; he teases me in these final moments. Family means nothing to him anymore, but I'd be a hypocrite if I said that I did anything to prove any different. Even if we got into this business for different reasons, deep down we knew that we both said goodbye to our former lives after we killed our first marks...even if that was the last thing I ever wanted. I guess I resent him a little—not for his outlandish appearance, or for the obnoxious acronym "GOAT" tattooed across his cheek. Goes with the myriad piercings, I guess. No, I resent him because he'll get paid for killing me, and I'll be nothing more than a martyr to a meaningless cause. Sort of makes me feel that I've been prioritizing all of the wrong things in my life. But that's what you do in these moments. Well, that's what they say. No one really can give you firsthand experience. It's funny...despite all of the regret and pain and sorrow, and all of the anger and resignation, I just can't stop thinking about one useless thing. Aiden. I've always thought it was kind of a stupid name. Even at the end, my priorities mean fuck all.
Chapter 1
My name is Gena Azaria, and I'm eighteen years old. I grew up in a small suburb of the Great Lakes residential sector, North Ohio district, and graduated high school with...okay grades. I mean, I would say that I never felt challenged to anyone who asked, but the truth of it was that I wasn't always a "good girl". Since my life is flashing before my eyes, it wouldn't do any good to lie to you now, would it?
I had my first drink at fourteen at a slumber party. My then-friend Rachelle swiped a bottle of synthahol from her daddy's security cabinet, which makes it sound like some impressive feat of legerdemain. But since I never saw her parents without a drink in their hands, let's just say that it wasn't all that hard to walk away with it. I still hate the taste of it—reminds me of medicine; but that didn't stop me from partying it up with my girls twice a week or more.
I had sex at fifteen with a study partner. I don't even remember her name.
I never killed anyone before. People knew that it happened all the time and it was all over the news. Not just on the streets. No, in high-rise corporate offices and federal buildings—which these days were the same thing. It was salacious and scandalous, these stories...rumors and hot takes on what VP ordered a hit on some other rival VP, or whether the senator from the New York Stock Exchange Syndicate, who was found with her pants around her ankles in the back of a Cadillac luxury air car was poisoned or had a heart attack, and if the two high schoolers at the scene had anything to do with it. The saucier the better. Even as a kid, I always felt that we were being sold a version of reality. The tragedy was that I didn't do anything except go with the flow, and that's how I ended up where we started.
College was supposed to be the key to success in the "real world". These days, if you didn't have a degree, you were nothing but a corporate/government slave. All of your money got taxed away, and you had to "apply" to get some of it back to live on, and that was basically how most people stayed alive...grinding away in quiet desperation. Fuck that, I thought. I could do better...I deserved better.
By the time I was seventeen, I graduated high school, and was ready to embark on my collegiate career at GE University. Let me back up a bit. After the Ultra Recession of 2037, corporations filled the void where governments left off, blurring the lines between them irreparably. So schools formerly named after states and people became named after the businesses who bought them. You'd think that there might have been some change to the insurmountable costs of higher education, but you'd be dead wrong. Quite the opposite. Unless you scored well on your corporate aptitude comprehensive application (or "CACA", for short), you were condemned to go to school somewhere like Flappy's Fry Shack Community College. Wanna take a stab what kind of job that corporate diploma landed you?
We were not a rich family. I mean, we weren't like those lazy people trying to live off the grid—criminals the lot of them, like the news said—but my mom and dad could still keep food on the table, even if it was only because they themselves were both graduates of Kroger-UDF Technical Institute; that's how they met. But they couldn't save up enough to send my brother and I to the kind of school where we might have had any chance of changing our lots in life. Of course high schools had changed, too. They now focused on economics and politics over history and arts, which never got anyone a job anyway. The irony was that this just made everything fiercely competitive, so unless you were some kind of child prodigy—or, as was more often the case, already rich—you were screwed. It's like that ancient saying goes: "The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer."
One of the ways that businesses liked to bait their citizens was the Lottery. But the days of billionaire mega-winners ended ages ago. Instead, each time you bought a product from a company and did their seven-page survey, you were entered into a chance to win something else they produced. In the case of GE University, this also included a "scholarship". A few months before I was going to graduate, and my prospects amounted to all but nil, Mom had to replace the dishwasher; the GE model was the only one she could afford.
You may be wondering why we had a dishwasher if we were so "poor". Well, little known fact: dishwashers use less water than hand washing, and since water got rationed when I was a kid, it was necessary. I mean, you could literally be taking a shower and the residential administrators just turn your water off if you hit the threshold. You really had to check the water reports daily on your phones to make sure this didn't happen. Needless to say, Old Spice College and others like it made a killing on deodorant.
Looking back, I'm a little surprised that she did the survey. Nobody ever won those things. That's what I used to think...and I kinda still do...
When Mom got the winning text four to six weeks later, she literally bounced up and down. This was the chance for one of her kids to become someone. I remember her showing the text to Aiden and I, and even though we all knew I was going to get the scholarship—just because I was oldest—he smiled so sweetly in a way that made me realize just how much I missed that kind, innocent boy, and how I had no idea that I was going to ruin everything yet.
He was such a sweet boy. He always did his homework, and always got good grades. He never mouthed off and never got into trouble. I think my mom gave me the award out of pity, but Aiden had a real chance at getting into a good college legitimately...or so I thought. He used to wear these glasses with these thin metal frames. Despite being delicate, he always took good care of them. Never had a broken pair. Aiden didn't have a lot of friends in school; I would say that I "did", but where are those friends now? I always wanted to look after him, protect him...clearly, I failed there, too.
Now when I say "scholarship", I really mean it was like one of those "introductory offers" that bait people into subscription plans that they get so deep into that they can't ever dig their way out of it again. But they don't tell you that, oh no. So this scholarship covered the first semester, and gave me an open enrollment option for a year afterwards if I wanted to continue. It was still better than nothing, and nothing was my only plan so far.
Fast forward to September and my parents taking me to college. Sitting in the backseat of the fixed route solar-powered station wagon they rented at great expense, Aiden and I snacked on popcorn while my parents debated what courses I should enroll in. They had to bring him along because they couldn't hire a sitter, but I wish they hadn't. Once we arrived, his eyes lit up at the gigantic campus, as big as a city—because it was a city. Massive structures emblazoned with the GE University logo everywhere, and copious cross-promotions. The only restaurants were Applebee's and, of course, McDonalds, and you could only drink Coke, though I knew people who would sneak in Pepsi when no one was looking. For me, this was a chance to see if I could get at least something out of the only semester I was sure to enjoy here, but instead this pilgrimage was the spark that lit an inferno within him. He wanted to see everything, go everywhere, and ultimately my parents had to tell him "no...you have to wait".
That's the worst part about growing up. The younger you are, the more you want to live life, and the more you hear "wait". As you get older, the fire dims, and all that's left are the ashes of regret. It's what happened to my parents, and so, so many others. It's like everybody prefers to wait in line rather than actually ride the ride at the amusement park.
That first semester was enlightening, but not in the ways that I expected. My introductory general education classes included production and assembly of GE's new line of refrigerator, which just so happened to look like the last one, just with slightly different paneling. The interior used some motor made at some West Coast city/school made up of Asian diaspora, and they were shipped to my school where we learned how to put it together on the line. I mean, we just controlled the assembly robots for that. It's not like we'd actually do it by hand...to much room for human error. Nobody trusted a product actually built by people anymore.
I also took an elective in customer service. It was a fluff class, because everyone knows that there's no point to call a business anymore, unless you want to wait on hold for hours and hours. Again, everything is done by robots now. It actually makes everything a lot easier, so long as you don't mind not having any control over anything.
I made some friends, too, since nobody I knew from high school could afford to go to my college. Okay, one friend. And even this was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. When you're surrounded by mostly "haves", they usually keep to their own circles, and don't deign to give the "have nots" anything more than a sideways glance. I suppose my fashion sense was a giveaway. I favored jeans and a tank top in the humid autumn weather, while everyone else had more sophisticated fare. Cardigan corsets and blazers with double collars were popular that year.
My best friend was Nancy. Why is it that the "Nancies" of the world make such great best friends? Well, my Nancy was like me; she won a scholarship, too, and was going to school for automotive repair. It struck me as a niche field, since most people just turned in their cars to be recycled if something broke and got a new one, but she told me that there were a lot of rich enthusiasts out there who still kept vintage electric cars. She tried to tell me that some people even had cars powered by gasoline, but I didn't believe her, since fossil fuels were banned decades ago. Everyone was told that the world governments rounded it all up and destroyed it to prevent any further ecological impact...and back then, I believed it like everyone else.
Nancy and I would spend the evenings going out for dinner and studying (actual studying, this time), or just streaming some random movies over a bowl of popcorn. Popcorn was one of the most prolific foods in the world. It was cheap and easy to make, and ever since it started getting nutritionally enhanced, it was good for you, too. Seriously, who couldn't love popcorn? Nancy was a lot smarter than me. She couldn't have predicted winning a scholarship herself, but somehow it all fit into her five year plan. I had no idea what the next step for her was, but in time, she would invite me into her world. That she was thinking about how to make a good living off of rich assholes also told me that she understood how the world really worked. Everybody knew it, but college really made it a reality. Money makes the world go round. As for me, when I needed to do my own thing and I offered for her to join me—that is, party until the sun came up, and wake up in a different bed every time—Nancy politely declined. She was no prude, but I could tell that even though I was her best friend, her future came first. I dunno...that's never really sat well with me, I guess. Not that I can blame her for that...just for a lot of other things.
And then it was six weeks before the end of the semester. The time to start enrolling for the next one was creeping up on me. The cold, sobering reality crept in, with all of the delicacy of waking up in an alley covered in your own puke. I was going home, and life—my actual life—couldn't be paused anymore. I didn't have any transferable skills. I didn't bother to think about that in the delirium of the college experience. No plan, no future. I should have just let Aiden go instead. I cried. A lot. I didn't have a roommate, so I was also alone. Except for Nancy. I called her up, and she knew something was wrong from the start. No amount of eye drops could have concealed my reddened eyes on the video chat. I told her about my fears, that I had blown this great opportunity, unlike her, who I knew had some plan to pay for the next semester. That I would do anything to just keep going for just one more semester, to get my act together. Unfortunately for me and everyone else that I loved and ever cared about, she had an answer...one that would be the end of everything I thought of as good...even if I thought that it was the exact opposite at the time. Hindsight is a bitch.
Chapter 2
"Gena, darling!" Nancy strode through the quad with that characteristic spring in her step that I loved, her scarf-collar trailing behind her in the brisk February morning. She and I used old-fashioned English-sounding accents at times like these, like the kind we heard in some ancient movies…when we knew that the other one was feeling a little down about something and some girl time was needed.
"Nancy, my love!" I extended my arms wide, my vintage denim jacket not quite covering half of my arms. I didn't like to wear a lot of clothing, even when it was bitter cold out. I mean, it never snowed in the cities anymore, so why bother?
"Are you ready?" Nancy had that perky, expectant look in her eyes that made me feel like she was in control of the world.
"I mean, it's not like I have a lot of choice." That sounded a lot shittier than I meant it to; after all, she was trying to help me, and I did say that I would do "anything" to pay for school. What did I have to lose?
Nancy picked up on that, but as usual knew me well enough not to take it personally. "Well, who does have a choice these days? But I mean, are you ready to meet who I was telling you about?" Nancy was being more coy than usual. She was definitely the kind of person who liked to keep her day organized into a tidy schedule which she kept in her pocket tablet. She used to say that she would have liked to have written it on actual paper, which was so expensive that I always thought she was kidding.
I stopped sulking...at least, I put on a good face for her. "Yeah, yeah! I mean, thank you so much. Really. I've been feeling like such a fuck up because it just hit me that I didn't do a damn thing about this, and here you come with an answer you’re willing to share with me. Thank you!"
"It's okay, honey, really." She put her hand on the side of my face and smiled, and I tried, tried not to swoon and make her uncomfortable. When Nancy and I first met at a school club—something about "branding", which neither of us really had any use for—I thought we might be more than just friends. I never brought it up, and it's probably good that I didn't. I found out shortly thereafter that Nancy only liked boys—and only real boys, at that. I think it might have been something religious (not that anyone did that anymore, or at least in public), but it was obvious. You couldn't really come out and say something like that these days without being made to feel like you had some kind of damage, so she just didn't talk about it. But you knew the score if you got to know her. Maybe it had something to do with all of the relics from the past that she was into. I never asked, and now I will never have the chance. But I liked her in spite of myself. I smiled instead.
"We'll meet this guy I was telling you about, and then go get some popcorn pizza, okay?" Nancy continued. I nodded and she took my arm and we skipped a little like the two goofs that we were. I stopped caring about what all of the other rich kids thought long ago. Okay, I guess I can't lie to you. I tried to stop caring, but this was just the insecurity of my upbringing in this world rearing its head. I was going to have to face this eventually.
We had to walk to get to where Nancy was taking us...a lot. I am just glad that I love wearing sneakers for everything. Seriously, I thought that if I ever did get married, I honestly thought I'd wear wedding sneakers. They're really a thing, by the way. Because we must have walked three miles, no joke. But Nancy said that where we were going, we couldn't take automated transportation. I mean, everything we did was tracked to some extent, but she said that automated transport made it a lot more suspicious. That’s when the alarms in my head should have started going off. Just what was Nancy getting us into, and should I be worried about her?
Where we walked looked like it was some abandoned neighborhood, not a human being around, though a meandering security drone floated by high above us. Nancy led us to some kind of ghetto drug store, where the sign was barely attached. , and everything just felt like something was off from the moment we walked in the door. I mean, there was an actual clerk behind the counter. These days, you just took your government ID—which doubled as everyone's prescription card—and inserted it into a kiosk and got your pills or syringes, or whatever they said you needed. But here was a person in what looked like a Halloween costume; he was dressed like a doctor or something, although beneath the coat he was clearly well built, muscular…even intimidating. Nancy told me later that he was meant to be a "pharmacist", which sounded like something you took a pill to get rid of.
"Hello there," the man beamed, bright white teeth nearly glowing. "Sorry, the kiosk is down, but I can help you get anything else from behind the counter that you're qualified to have dispensed." Indeed, there was an automated kiosk that looked like it was older than me covered in dust, with a faded "out of order" projection overlayed on it. I was confused. Nancy didn't tell me why we were going to this hovel.
"Hi," Nancy squinted at his name tag. "...Marvin? My friend and I were looking for Abraxus-19AD for...lady troubles." She gave her own beaming smile, and Marvin's dropped. I was a little shocked to see a guy get so bent out of shape about a gal having her period, although I'd never heard of "Abraxus-19AD"...it sounded fake, and apparently, it was. Marvin lifted the gate on the old-fashioned counter and waived us both through into the back room.
"Anything electronic or mechanical...and I mean anything in the cubby hole," Marvin barked. He wasn't with us in the room, but I knew he could see us, and I didn't want to do anything that would make things hard for Nancy. I put my pocket tablet, my earrings (for music and phone calls), and my identity ring in storage. Nancy once told me that people used to keep all of their documents physically on little laminated pieces of plastic in something called a "purse". It sounds like it must have been really inconvenient. I wonder if people back then had to ever do anything like this. I felt naked without my things.
"When you pass under the arch, put both of your hands up," Marvin continued. There was a black light at the end of the room, faintly illuminating the arch and a door without a handle at the end of the short hallway. "Don't try to open the door. I have to buzz you in." Nancy walked through first and didn't seem the least bit perturbed by it. I was really nervous. I had never seen something like this arch before and had no idea what it might do to me.
"It's a metal detector," she explained; I still had no idea what that was. "They used to use them in airports and government buildings ages ago," Nancy continued. She looked like she wanted to say something more about why I didn't know what this was, but she stopped herself. I admit, it sometimes pisses me off when she gives me that look, like I'm ignorant or something. But she always stops herself…at least after I told her so the first time. She knows how that drives me nuts, and that I don't need that shit from her—I get it from everyone else at school already.
"If you're carrying anything made of metal, it makes a noise, that's all,” Nancy clarified. “It was to keep people from bringing guns into places where they weren't allowed." I rankled at the word "gun", because it's just one of those words you don't use in polite company, or shit, even with friends; it's offensive. But I got that Nancy wasn't trying to offend me—she was just explaining how a relic from the past worked, one that I didn't have any frame of reference for.
I walked through the metal detector, and there was no sound. I breathed a sigh of relief as though I had passed some initiation. But the real initiation was a long way away. Then came the "buzz", which made my heart skip a beat until I saw the door at the other end of the room open slowly. More black light poured out of the room and the strangest music came from the staircase beyond, descending into the unknown. It was actually upsetting and made me feel like my adrenaline was spiking or that I was having an anxiety attack…or maybe that was just the nervousness on top of it. The music was fast and hard and sounded like someone was banging metal dishes and having a seizure with a guitar. I reached into my pill pocket for some Phaukeetals to drown it out, but Nancy grabbed my arm. What was she doing?! She's never done anything like this! "Don't," she calmly said. "I know it's uncomfortable, but you really want to be alert for what I think happens next." Okay, now she was freaking me out, but she did that thing where she puts her hand on my cheek again, and my pulse relaxed as though I took a quarter tab anyway. I did trust her, more than anyone else than my family. I was in.
We walked down the steps, and our skin took on that deathly pallor you get when you're under black light. People were lounging on sofas that looked like they were made out of...actual leather?! That was illegal! And smoking cigarettes?! Nancy held my hand and she gave a waive to someone at the back of the room with her other one…somebody near some green table with a bunch of colored balls on it. A short man with a receding hairline in a brown sports coat and tweed sneakers—who somehow felt like he didn't belong here, either—waived back, and then walked toward us, arms outstretched.
"Nancy! So good you came!" She let go of my hand to hug the guy who might have been an uncle or something. "How's school?"
"Great, Uncle Toby," confirming my suspicions. "Have you heard from Aunt Agatha about the ranch?" I wasn't familiar with the word.
"Your Aunt Agatha had to put down one of the horses, I'm afraid. Broke it's leg." As Toby shrugged his shoulders, I remained lost concerning what they were talking about. I would learn later that Nancy's aunt and uncle were self-described "Freemen" (which somehow also included women, but I don't want to debate the semantics), those same "off-the-grid" types I heard being criticized on the news every day as psychopaths and criminals because they refused to get coded into the system, or found some way to get themselves deleted from it, which always just sounded like suicide to me. I would also later learn that the horse broke its leg due to malnutrition. Seems that living out in the proverbial woods didn't come with luxuries like nutritionally-enhanced popcorn.
"I'm so sorry to hear that," Nancy commiserated. "Are you going to be okay?" She was genuinely sympathetic.
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me. We have two more to pull the plow,” and Toby smirked. Yet again, lost here. Toby looked at me and smiled wider. "Who's your pretty friend?" I was beginning to like this guy less and less.
"This, my dear uncle, is Gena. She's a little shy," Nancy teased to soften the mood, "but I think Hideo would still like to meet her." There was a brief pause as Toby dropped his smile significantly.
"You know, we should have maybe vetted her a bit more, don't you think?"
"Believe me, Tobes, she'll be great." And for the first time, I saw a kind of smile on Nancy that I hadn't seen in her arsenal of personable facial expressions...one that also, for the first time, gave me the smallest sliver of doubt about whether she believed what she just said or not.
"Well, I could never say no to you," Toby exclaimed with gusto. "Okay then, let's not tarry. Hideo's in the back, and he's looking to size you up for training. C'mon." He guided us through the subterranean pandemonium, through the twisting labyrinth of tough-looking people and archaic décor concealed deep beneath that misleading drug store, and into yet another door...a green one. Inside was a jarring contrast to what came before. It was furnished with the most unusual accoutrements. Lamps with stained glass shades, the most ornate floor rugs I have ever seen outside of a museum, and what looked like a "fireplace" (I read about those once), except it was fake. Seated in another leather, high-backed chair was a man who had short-cropped black hair and an expression that reminded me of a sculpture. There was strength there, and I could feel it from across the room. It was like some great corporate leader had been waiting for us and was blessing us with his presence. I actually thought that this was who it was at first.
"Never one to underplay a hand, Monroe." The man was talking to Toby, so I'm guessing Monroe was his last name. Their relationship was clearly business first. He sipped something from a glass that looked like a breast to me.
"No sir. I thought we should be happy to have not just one eager candidate, but two!" Candidate?
"Well, that's just it, isn't it," the man said as he rose. He had to be seven feet tall, easy, making the difference between him and Toby all that more absurd. "We like enthusiasm almost as much as we like dedication. Monroe, formally introduce me to these young ladies, please."
"Yes sir. You know about my niece, Nancy…but, yes, this is Nancy, and her friend...Gena." The slight inflection at the end of his statement made it clear that he had only barely remembered who I was, but I didn't really hold that against him. Hideo looked over us both like he was deciding between a pair of new ties. His ever-so-slight shrug that followed told me he decided on both of them...on both of us.
"Nice to meet you, Gena. Nancy." Despite the cold, even hard exterior, Hideo managed a faint smile that actually put me at ease in spite of myself. I smiled back. "Do you know why you're here?" I wasn't still sure how to answer this. I mean, I really didn't know any more than what Nancy implied. I started to speak, but Nancy finished for me.
"We understand that you provide a service which capable young people like ourselves are best equipped to carry out. Specialty services for special clientele." I've heard Nancy bullshit, and this was no exception. I mean, she had to have some idea—probably something Toby alluded to—but she was clearly as in the dark about the specifics as I was. Nancy hinted about this before we came by telling me an old, old story—probably a myth, really—about a college girl who paid for school by doing porn. That was long before they were owned by corporations, she said. I thought it was ridiculous. I mean, who would be ashamed about that. And why even bother when VR simulations were so real that it's just cheaper and easier to fake it? Besides, the idea of being shamed for sex sounded as foreign to me as if someone told me that the world was flat. But what she was getting at was that what we would be doing would probably not be sexual but would almost certainly be illegal. I was scared, to be honest, but there was so much that was illegal, that I guess it just depended on how bad it was. And there it was: that first step on the slippery slope.
Hideo looked at us both like before, and replied, "You're absolutely right, Nancy. Except that, you could use that sentence to describe just about anything." He saw right through it, but it didn't bother him apparently. "Please," he waived his hand at a pair of additional high-backed leather chairs, just as Toby was closing the door behind him, leaving us alone with Hideo. I sat on the chairs and was surprised at how I loved the feel of the leather on my hands and forearms. It felt...naughty. Hideo took his place opposite of us, perched forward as though he had a message just for our ears that urgently needed to be said...which he did.
"I trust that you have both seen news stories about assassinations of high-profile targets, yes?"
"...Sure," I hesitantly replied. "It's part of the corporate wars, right?" I saw where this was going but kept on with Hideo's questions anyway.
"Smart girl," he said. "It's an open secret that the greatest corporations in the world employ assassins to eliminate problematic outliers. No one admits to doing it, but in the interest of general global stability and harmony, they tacitly encourage it. After all, what are a few sacrifices when compared to the welfare of the whole?" Hideo stood up after this rhetorical question and continued. "The 'service' you spoke of, Nancy, should be obvious by now." He looked us in the eyes, first Nancy then me. "We train you, equip you with everything you need, and finally pay you well to perform this necessary function for global harmony. To put it more bluntly, you will become assassins."
Chapter 3
Looking back on that first meeting with Hideo, I kept asking myself why I didn't say no. And then I remembered how persuasive he could be, and yes, how I didn't want to disappoint Nancy or leave her to it by herself. We were a team, after all. Or maybe all of that was bullshit, too. Maybe Hideo was right all along...it was all about the money.
***
"You're shocked, or at least pretending to be shocked." Hideo stood over us like a monolith in a three-piece suit. I gulped and thought he might actually kill us right there. My blood ran cold, but Nancy—strong, confident Nancy—got up and tried to reclaim the situation.
"No, no, sir," she plied with her characteristic diplomacy. "It's just that this is so fast. Gena and I are looking to continue our education and reach for a better and more secure future for ourselves and our loved ones, yes. And, yes, my uncle did indicate that we might have to do something 'unsavory' to get there, but he and I understand that nobody gets anywhere by just waiting for a handout." She extended her hand toward me. "It's just that the specifics of the work eluded us until now."
"That was by design," the giant answered. "As it should be obvious, we run a trade that, while it fulfills a necessary need, remains illegal at this time. Despite this, history has shown that things which are...unpleasant to consider...things people used to call 'immoral', nevertheless remain desirable means to an end. All of human history and all of our myths and legends revolve around killing to achieve a higher purpose. And like every era in human history, ours represents yet another acknowledgment of why this intrinsic aspect of humanity should not be treated as shameful or worthy of contempt." While Hideo prognosticated, I lost him a little because I didn't know of any "myths" or "history" in truth. I mean, it's like I was always told in school: "You can't look forward if you're constantly looking back. History isn't what's important; only today matters and how it leads to tomorrow." But I did remain transfixed by his charisma and presence, and I felt his words make me more receptive to his ideas.
"What I'm saying, ladies," he continued, "is that despite everything you've been taught heretofore, there is much in the world which you have no idea about. Are you really getting a comprehensive education at college? Are you learning just what you truly need to rise up and become respected...admired...envied? My answer is no; but I can change that for you, now and forever." Hideo walked to the mantle above the artificial fireplace and took from it a small box. He sat down opposite us again and opened the box, and inside were two very small black buttons, about a millimeter in diameter. "Monroe," he called out with a booming voice, at which point Toby reentered the room and stood, from what I assumed in a place that seemed to be blocking the exit.
"These are your first test. If you fail, you leave. I'm not concerned about you telling anyone else about what you've seen or what I've said to you today, because I know that you won't. You're smart girls," he said with a smile that suggested something other than mirth. "To pass this test, you must ingest the button. It won't hurt you, but it is required for the second test, which I will only tell you about after you pass the first." He waited, and so did I. Sure, I ate strange tablets at parties growing up, and yes, they messed me up; that was the point. But it was always in a party environment, which this most certainly was not. And I was unsure. But before I could protest, Nancy reached out her arm, and tossed the button down her throat, as though she were just munching on some popcorn. I was aghast. She had no idea what this was, nor did I, or what it would do to her, and I sure as shit wasn't about to take it on faith because her creepy uncle was standing a few feet away. Nancy smiled. She looked over to me. There was a long pause.
"I love you," she said tenderly, and my heart jumped up to my throat. "You're my dearest friend, and I trust you, just as you trust me. We can do this together. I want us to succeed. I want us to reach up and take something we’re entitled to from this world…something that has always been kept from us. This is the only way we can. We're seizing our future, we're empowering ourselves. We're not 'slaves', as you've always feared. But I believe that if we don't do this, right now, that's exactly what we'll be forever. Please, don't make me do this alone."
She said "I love you", but I think she meant it with those three horrible words that follow: "as a friend". She did, but it didn't matter. She was right. I trusted her. And was a fool. I didn't even look at the button. I didn't feel it go into my throat, or think about anything else that it was intended to do later. Trust is thinking with your heart and not your brain, but it's the wrong tool for thinking in the first place…one of many. And yet it made me feel good to do it. How many things have I done to "feel good" that only made me feel worse later?
"Good," Hideo exhaled. "Now, the second test." Hideo lifted up a false bottom from the box which held the buttons and produced what looked like a ratty old notebook bound in black leather. It was embossed with a skull and crossbones with the words "The Assassination Game" etched into the cover. I had never seen a physical book before, outside of the virtual museums that I had visited, but those weren’t "real" in the strictest sense of the word. "This book is a training exercise. It has all of the skills and practices necessary to develop into an assassin. It was, believe it or not, played as a 'game' by people long ago, although in this book, no one actually killed anyone. It was just pretend." He handed me the book first. I hesitantly took it and flipped through the pages. I saw rules, diagrams, and pictures, although all of it seemed very archaic. Hideo must have been very smart to have been able to decipher all of this. He got up and paced through the room like a lion in command of his den, while Toby helped himself to a beverage from a table lined with a few bottles filled with liquids of varying shades of brown.
"You will receive copies of this book, each hand copied onto recycled paper, and kept secretly in a shell resembling a pocket tablet. You cannot reveal the existence of this book to anyone other than to those I indicate. Understood?" He looked at us, and we nodded. "Right. You will memorize the contents of these books, because they will not only form a template for how you will carry out your assignments, but also to make sure that you can take direction like good pupils. You will train by playing this game; not with one another, but an actual assassin who will be unknown to you. Know that you are in no real danger, but this assassin knows the game as you will, and at some point which you least expect, they will touch your shoulder and tell you that 'you're dead'. And that will be the end of the first game. It's that simple."
I was confused, and made that clear, unconcerned about whether I sounded stupid or not. "So...we're not actually killing anyone, but letting someone else pretend to kill us, right? I don't get it."
"I hear what you're saying, Gena," Hideo acknowledged, "but keep two things in mind going forward. First, in order to understand what it means to be an assassin, you must observe how one operates. But a good assassin will not give you any indication of their intentions until it is too late. Know that the one who 'kills' you in this game will become your 'mentor', from whom you will learn all of the real world applications of this game, and will challenge you to try to do the same to them. That will be the third test." Hideo paused for a moment and crossed his arms across his broad chest. "And second, Gena, and more important: I have chosen you for this rare opportunity. It is not important whether you understand my directions; you will follow them, because all of this will be for nothing if you don't. I will not continue to employ someone who is not willing to accept orders without question. I do not need to prove myself to you; rather, it is the other way around. Agreed?" I felt as small at that button that I ate, and feebly replied that I did.
***
I was laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think of too much of what happened. It was like I saw some other side of the world, some dirty side that I naively thought didn't exist, but always knew that did. I wanted to call my mom, but Hideo anticipated this, and told us that no matter what we were feeling after today, that to prevent any "issues" later on about the clandestine nature of our business, that for at least twenty-four hours, we were to refrain from reaching out to anyone who we knew. We were even to skip class and stay in our rooms and avoid contact with anyone we could while we mentally processed this information. It was what he called "isolation therapy". I probably should have tried to do some homework, but maybe Hideo was right; I couldn't focus on anything. I watched some shows and movies, but again, I would drift off and forget about what I was doing. I wondered if the button had anything to do with this. Hideo wouldn't have explained what it was, even if we asked. He made that abundantly clear after dressing me down for my interjection earlier. And I just couldn't sleep.
Toby escorted Nancy and I from the "bar" (as he called it afterwards) and we made our way back to our dorms in all but total silence. We looked over at each other from time to time. We had been exposed to something neither of us understood, but before the end of our next semester, we were going to have to understand at the very core of our being. And we were going to get dirty...far dirtier than just making a nasty porno.
***
"Before you go," Hideo closed, "I have something I want to play for you." He retrieved a small media drive from his pocket and set it into an old-fashioned looking tablet, which for some reason had an archaic keyboard attached to it. It looked like some kind of briefcase, and I chuckled a bit because here I thought that Hideo was rich and yet here he was using this ancient looking machine. Couldn't he afford something newer? A video came on the screen, shown from the first person. The scene was an upscale restaurant, the kind where only ultra-rich CEOs and the like could afford to eat. The music was lively, and people were all wearing the same fancy, tailored outfits. It must have been some corporate gathering; I've heard that they wear uniform evening wear for these kinds of things and are only allowed to accessorize to a certain degree to represent individuality. Still, it all seemed so glamorous. I thought that Hideo was giving us a taste of what we might look forward to in our future. I was half right.
The camera focused on one of the partygoers who got up from the bar; it watched him move to the restroom. Then, the camera rose up and made its way there as well. It then became apparent that what we were seeing was from someone else's perspective, and not something staged. This person moved effortlessly through the crowd, and upon entering the bathroom, turned and locked the door behind himself. He then walked up behind the man in the tuxedo at the urinal, pulled a thin metal cord from out of his cufflink, and wrapped it around the victim's neck. The camera shook so violently, it looked like an earthquake, and I was feeling nauseous. This went on for at least a minute but it felt like twenty. Gurgling, sputtering sounds mingled with the sound of expensive Gucci loafers squeaking against the tile floor...until a loud crack was followed by soul-chilling silence.
The figure moved with the body into one of the stalls with his gloved hands, the victim's eyes and tongue bugging out like a cartoon, and a dark purple ring around his neck, which was bent at what looked like an impossible angle off to the side. He locked the stall door, then slid under the gap below with serpentine ease, and emerged into the now unoccupied bathroom. The killer than took a moment to look into the bathroom mirror. Wearing a pair of featherlight glasses was the face of none other than Hideo. The video ended, and I struggled to breathe. Nancy threw up.
***
The video went round and round in my mind. I was shocked, yes, but not because these things didn't happen. I wasn't naive...or, at least I wasn't completely oblivious. All you had to do if you really wanted to watch a "snuff" film like that was to go to a virtual space online. But that was fiction, and this was real. Online was another world, really, and people used to think that you could get hooked on it and lose out on being productive members of society by wasting away there. So, like water, it was rationed. People needed an escape, and those in control recognized this. Like with water, online "downtime" was limited based on society's needs. If productivity was flagging in one sector, downtime decreased to compensate, and vice versa. This encouraged citizens to work hard so that they could all make sure to get a fair share of downtime. Murder simulators were a part of this, like sex simulators, space simulators, superhero simulators, and on and on. And when people got too obsessed, their biochip recognized the adrenal overload and dosed accordingly.
The news didn't show the assassinated in graphic detail, at least not without pixelation, but it wasn't hard to disable the filters, and the media surely knew this. So yeah, if you wanted to see a dead body, all you had to do was watch the news or go online. You just didn't want to do it in polite company.
But that didn't change the fact that I saw the man who gave me some pill and a handbook strangle some nameless VP in a bathroom today. Hideo was making it clear, in no uncertain terms, that we—Nancy and I—would have to do the same thing, or whatever else fit with our client's needs. It was startling. It wasn't like I was opposed to death or anything. Everybody had the right to go to the doctor when they were done with life, and that was that. Nobody batted an eye. It was just different when it was somebody important, I guess.
I listened to the sound of my own breathing. I thought about what Nancy must be going through right now. I watched the clock until three p.m. and when it came, as my hand went toward my earrings to call Nancy, she beat me to it. I picked up.
"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed. "I had this terrible fear that something might have happened to you." I felt a little guilty for not thinking as severely as she had.
"I'm okay," I lied. "I'm glad you're okay, too. You didn't read any of that handbook yet, did you?"
"No, I couldn't focus on it. You?"
"Nah. I think I should, though...after I just give a call to my mom to say hello."
"Yeah..." Her voice dropped. Shit! I forgot in the moment. Nancy told me that her mother died in an industrial accident nine years ago. She and her father could barely stay afloat on his income alone, and he couldn't find anyone who wanted to take on the stigma of a stepdaughter. Her father, clearly old school, didn't just donate Nancy to a child welfare facility like most people did in that situation, which made growing up very, very hard. And I just brought it back with one stupid off-hand comment.
"Oh, no, I'm sorry, Nancy. I didn't mean..."
"It's okay, really. I've just been feeling really raw since yesterday. Don't worry about it." Damn, I could even hear her smile through the phone.
"So, do you want to come over and study this fucking thing with me?" My voice cracked as I tried to joke about everything. She laughed, which means that I had scored a hit.
"Yeah...yeah, I think that would be good. We have to have each other's back on this."
"Always." Except, not always.
Chapter 4
I was dead before I knew what was happening. I guess that's the sign of a good assassin. The other person, I mean, not…me, of course.
I was nervous and excited the whole time, I have to admit. It was like waiting for Holiday presents, but also I felt like I should be learning something. It kind of distracted me from my school work, unfortunately. Final projects were coming up. I and my "team" (my class) were to assemble a dozen refrigerators of the same model with the same uniformity, or we would fail. Nancy liked to tell me that schools used to determine success by applying a letter grade. Now, with the intense focus on consumer data, schools went straight to a success/fail model. You either made a perfect product for the consumer, or you were out, because one bad review could ruin a company. Yes, accidents happened, and people were held accountable. For assemblers, it usually meant only termination, but for those VPs—the kind I knew I would be dealing with on a "personal" level—it meant so much more. Financial ruin, their legacies dissolved and redistributed, and of course, death. No, death wasn't officially a part of failing to meet the job objectives, but it was again one of those open secrets. This led to increasingly fierce competition, conservative business tactics measured rigorously against consumer data, and also plausible deniability as a rule. And lots of backstabbing. Of course, I didn't know this all yet. I was just getting into "the business", but I would discover plenty after the curtain of mystery was yanked aside.
I would walk to class through the quad, wearing optical shades. I never used to wear them, but it occurred to me that doing so would allow me to catch anyone approaching me out of my peripheral vision without giving away that I saw them. I thought I was so clever. I borrowed a pair from Nancy. I actually didn't like wearing glasses, and they were really just for fashion anymore, due to solidifying liquid contact lenses being a thing. Of course, Hideo would insist that we wore them on our missions to record our work. He would later tell us that the technology for recording contact lenses was still some ways off, unfortunately.
Every time someone was walking the other way on my path and got within six feet of me, I went on alert. I watched them as they moved closer into my personal space and made sure their hands were outside of my reach. I really didn't know what I would do if they were the assassin or not. Hideo didn't expressly say that the assassin couldn't attack in broad daylight, but the rulebook (which I mostly had memorized by this point) said that the game should be played without witnesses, so it was still anybody's guess.
A week went on, and I started to relax a little. I was able to contribute somewhat to my final project, which wasn't really due for another few weeks, but I still had not paid for the next semester yet; neither had Nancy. I was becoming more concerned about this than anything and was actually hoping that I would get attacked sooner than later to stave off the waiting. I didn't have to wait long.
Coming back to my student cell at night, long after a work session with my team went over time, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and a husky voice say, "you're dead". What happened next was a blur. Instincts I never knew I had kicked in and I reached for the hand and grabbed it. Bad idea. The assassin twisted my body in such a way that I was hoisted off of my feet and pressed to the ground with an audible thud. I felt the point of something sharp against my neck—a spot that I would later learn was called a "carotid artery”. This made me tense up, and despite my desire to lash out, to kick and scream, a face emerged from the darkness with a finger pressed against her lips, and said, "shoosh", like the wind whistling through the rooftops of the school's multilevel campus.
"Good instincts, but too late," the voice continued. In the relative dark, my eyes began to adjust. The voice belonged to someone I took to be a woman. Her hair was concealed by a hood wrapped tightly around her skull. She wore long but tight-fitting dark fabric that further supported my suspicions that this was a woman. She had a wiry frame and unusually long arms and legs. She wore a belt and harness with several pockets. She reminded me of one of those ancient stories about superheroes that Nancy told me about one night while watching some colorful action vid. Suddenly I wanted popcorn. (Focus, Gena, focus!)
"Get up, little one," she continued, "and turn on your lights." I walked delicately toward the sensor and waived my hand. She knew to keep out of the sensor! Otherwise, she would have triggered it. Kinda amazing, I thought. As the lights came on, I saw who my killer was more clearly. She did indeed appear to be a woman with dark skin and wearing dark gloves. She had tactical boots that hugged the curvature of her feet. I noticed a poncho on the hook behind my door, so I knew she couldn't have come into my room looking like this, though I still struggled to put together how she got in at all. Access was restricted by identity rings, so unless she already lived here, she shouldn't have been able to enter my wing.
"Who are you," I asked, a bit stupidly, but still cradling the back of my head from the throw.
"I am India. I am to be your mentor, and you have a lot to learn." I didn't think that she was being deliberately rude, so I let that go. Besides, I did need her tutelage, whether I liked it or not. "Sit down on your bed," she pointed, but did not join me. "Do you know why I killed you?"
"Because you snuck into my room, and..." India interrupted.
"Wrong. Because you did not think like an assassin." My patience was fading fast, and the swelling lump on the back of my head did nothing to quell it.
"I read the fucking book, what do you fucking want from me?!" India was in front of me in one step, and again put her finger to my lips and said "shoosh". She had such a presence that I obeyed in spite of my anger.
"You read the book. Good. But there is more to understand." She sat down opposite me, on the floor, her legs akimbo. "Do you know what it means to end a life?" She was asking a rhetorical question, and I was annoyed, so I didn't answer; I crossed my arms instead and pouted. "It means to disrupt the balance of the world." Oh, great…I got some kind of spiritual nut job for a mentor. Fucking thanks, Hideo. "Do not roll your eyes at me now." I was actually startled. I didn't think I gave any visible clue at my frustration, but she saw anyway. "You need to accept that you are a part of the whole."
"Yeah, we all are. That's how all of the businesses that make up our world keep things moving smoothly. We're a part of the machine, and that's a good thing." Back then, I believed it, too.
"No. You are more than that. You are a woman. You are a soul encased in flesh that will rot and die eventually. But it should not be before its time. That is where we are special. We defy this natural order because something else threatens the harmony of the world. What we do, we do for a greater purpose. Otherwise, we are no different than a beast." I knew what she was referring to, although I had never seen a "beast" or animal in person. People kept virtual pets that looked like dogs and cats, but keeping a real one was forbidden, due to potential disease, overpopulation, and so on. Many animals had since been made extinct, but their DNA was kept in cold storage it was said, so it wasn't like they were gone forever, right?
"Look," I calmly stated—as calmly as I could, at least—"I respect your...feelings about life and stuff. But I was told that you would teach me to be an assassin. I have to do this quick, because I have to pay for the next semester, and I need money, and..."
"Listen to yourself," India interrupted again. Rude. "You say, 'I have to'…'I need'. What do you need?" I really didn't understand her anymore. "You don't really know. It's okay. I was like you many years ago. I cried myself to sleep in the outlands. My parents were both supervisors at a profitable identity ring manufacturing company. I was very rich. I thought I was very happy. I had everything I needed for a safe, calm, placid life. And then they died. It was a freak accident. An earthquake. A building collapsed on them." I wanted to reach out to India. I was sad for her in spite of everything that happened earlier. She continued, "I was dumped by the corporation into a ‘donation center’. Have you ever been to one? It is slavery, plain and simple. For the rest of your life, you make microelectronic processors. Do you know what they do to you if you make a mistake? I saw once." She was quiet for a moment, and breathed in. I saw her slight chest rise and fall beneath her body armor. "You like popcorn?" I was taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.
"Yeah, I love it. Why?"
"Do you ever have any of those little kernels at the bottom of the bag. They do not 'pop' like the rest?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you eat them, as was their intended purpose?"
"No, it's hard. Besides, I get enough nutrients from..."
"You throw them away. 'Recycle' them. But when people get 'recycled', they do not come back." I began to understand a little. Nobody ever talked about the orphans or forgotten people. Everybody just hoped that they wouldn't become one themselves. "I was approached by a tall man looking to buy orphans for a project. That was Hideo. I still don't know how he did it, but he took me under his wing. I was his first assassin. He told me that I was to be an avenging angel, and that I would be put to use in a long and dangerous mission to help undermine key points in this flawed system, to pave the way for a glorious revolution." Now I was getting more and more worried. I started to think she was actually talking about "terrorism", and no matter what, I wasn't going to go down that road. Corporations wiped out whole residential blocks if they even sniffed a terrorist conspiracy. Again, India was very observant, and picked up on my rigid fear. "It's okay. The revolution is many years away. We will not fix the world so soon after we took so many years to break it. For now, we work as soldiers, as a part of the system. You decide if and when you become anything more."
For the first time, I noticed that she wasn't wearing glasses. I thought that strange, given that I thought assassins were supposed to wear them on their missions. I thought that this might not technically be a mission, so no need to record it. I was so naive then.
"Okay," I acknowledged and stood up; India did the same, again in one precise movement. "Where do we start?"
***
I'd like to say that India had the decency to wait until dawn at least to get to training. I'd like to say that, but that would be a lie.
We began in a way that I thought was dull at first, but I understood later why she did it. Breathing. What no movie or show or book will tell you—except the good ones—is that anything you do that requires stamina, physical exertion, or concentration begins with good breathing. India understood that better than anyone else I've ever met. She shared techniques with me that worked better (or at least more reliably) than any pill I ever took. We just sat there on the floor (my butt hurt after a while) and looked at each other. I matched my breathing to hers. She taught me breathing techniques that made me forget I was tired, that made me feel like I was faster and stronger. Some of these came later, but yeah, lungs fucking rule.
Stretching was next. My muscles and tendons weren't used to this. I mean, I always thought I was in good shape, until I met India. She was an athlete. She actually bent both of her legs behind her head! She told me not to try this yet, though, but said that "someday I would do this" in that voice that she had which brooked no argument…so matter-of-fact that it was like it was etched in replica stone.
At dawn, she started taking off her body suit. She was physically perfect, although a bit more muscular than I liked…but that didn’t stop me from staring. She looked at me and paused…then she read my mind. "We are not having sex. I am borrowing your clothing." I shrugged. You couldn't say no to India—she would just interrupt you before you did.
She put on a short-sleeved fabric shirt and leggings of mine that I wore on days when I just didn't care. Not the most stylish outfit, but probably the most comfortable.
"Okay. Next, we do exercise. I have to blend in so your clothes are necessary." I chuckled a bit, and she smiled for the first time I had ever seen. I think she was trying to make a joke, because we both knew that my clothes were too baggy and too short for her, but also that with her physique, there was no way she was blending in anywhere around my campus. "Let's go to the roof."
We left my room and made our way to the stairs. I asked her why we didn't just take the elevator, and before I could even finish my question, she said, "You need exercise. You aren't too fat, but you could lose a few pounds. Stairs are good for that." Wasn’t sure how to take the “not too fat” comment, but more about that later. She jogged up them two at a time. Okay, okay, she was right. I was sweating my face off by the time we reached the halfway point. "Remember to breathe!" she shouted down. I couldn't even reply.
She was waiting for me at the top, arms crossed and smirking. "Fuck you," I wheezed. She laughed; I wanted to, but my flabby lungs weren’t having it.
"Okay. You see now why breathing is important. I am not out of breath, yes?" She stretched out her arms, and breathed in. "We are very high up. No one will see us here." I wasn't so sure about that. I mean, I thought there were surveillance cameras on the rooftops. Still reeling, I pointed at them. Again, she smiled. "Those...are not real." I straightened up and looked at her askance. "Our world is one built on fear...fear of being caught, of doing something we're not supposed to do. Fear of being seen for who we really are. But everyone forgets that someone has to see you do it first. How many people do you think you would need to monitor each and every 'camera' all over the world? Answer: too many. So there are some fake cameras here and there. Most cameras are fake...but not all. These are." She pointed a small device she took from her pocket (my pocket?) and pointed it at one of the cameras. It emitted a faint pulse...then nothing. "Had those been real cameras, they would have exploded." She held out the device toward me. "Targeted electromagnetic pulse generator. Good tool to have." She threw it to me, and I barely caught it. "Yours."
"Seriously?" I was astonished. I'd never even heard of something like this. I thought they only existed in movies.
"Yes. Now, to training. Attack me."
"What?"
"Attack me. However you like. I want to see what you think will hurt me." I didn't actually want to hurt her. India would later tell me that this was the most important reason why I couldn't touch her. I couldn't touch her, no matter what I did. I rushed at her with a punch. She tripped me while stepping to the side. I jumped at her. Again, she moved out of the way. I threw grit from the rooftop at her. You don't have to be a genius to figure out what happened next. We went on for almost a half an hour like this before I started to feel really fatigued. "Again, breathe." She said that so often, but eventually, in spite of it all, I listened. And fuck me if it didn't work. I actually could keep going. I still couldn't hit her, but I didn't feel like a pile of old industrial rags anymore. I was sweating and I loved it. I was getting hungry, but I was so enthusiastic that I didn't care. I felt like something heavy was burning away in me. I felt like I had some kind of chain taken off. The more I did this, the better I felt. But I still couldn't hit her.
Hours passed. India retrieved a pair of snack bars from the pocket and we sat down and ate. I didn't even see her take that stuff out of her harness. I asked her about how she managed that sleight of hand. She said that she didn't, that she put these things in the pockets of the outfit she was going to change into before I even came back to my room the night before. I gulped hard, realizing that she really was always three steps ahead of me.
"I've been watching you for a week now, Gena. I know all about you. I know that you prefer fruits to vegetables, that you like slightly overcast days more than sunny ones, that you have a brother named Aiden, a mother named Nadia, and a father named Alexi, and that you came here because you were given a semester to work for GE University. It is not a real education, no. I know you don't like mint flavored toothpaste. I know you masturbate at almost exactly eleven p.m. every night." (Okay, too much info, India. Seriously...) "I know that you are a good person, but you need help to see the world for what it is, to live in this brave new world without thinking of yourself as just another piece of a machine. I will do this for you because Hideo did this for me so long ago.
"I tell you this, Gena Azaria, because you must be fully aware of your surroundings, of your target, of yourself before you embark on any mission, especially one so important as the one we are on. You must anticipate your target's every move, decision, and choice in advance. It is an art." (Again, people kept using words around me I didn't know. What is "art"?) "It is something that comes with time, yes, but you must learn quickly." India rose. "We are done here for today. I will return at night to confer with you. Today, you choose a stranger and watch them. Observe what they do, but do not draw attention to yourself. Just watch. When I return, I will ask you about that person. Okay?"
"Yeah." I was a bit bushed, even if I was also energized. "Is a restaurant a good place to start looking for people?"
"Maybe, but you are a student, yes? You should follow a student first. See what they do. Also, less suspicious. What happens when the other person finishes eating and you have not, hmm?"
"Okay, I guess I should go to school, is what you're telling me?"
"Yes. Go to school but learn something they won't teach you."
***
I went to class and had to make up some excuse about anxiety to bow out of my contribution to the final project. I did feel kinda crappy lying about that, but to be fair, I was feeling a bit anxious...excited really. India had given me "homework", and I had a feeling that I was going to please her with what I observed.
I left class and wandered through the quad a little. India suggested that I didn't wear the optical shades for this exercise, as they actually tended to attract more attention than they reduced. She said that I should always keep my eyes ahead of me as though I was going in one direction. Instead of watching a mark, you watched their trajectory. You considered where they would most likely be later and verified periodically as subtly as possible. Take advantage of the environment, she said, but not to the point where it looks staged. Your phone earring falls out. Stop and pick it up, spray it with sanitizing gel, and reinsert. A news advertisement plays on one of the rotating virtual projections en route. Stop for a few seconds to watch, but no more. And so on and so forth. And resist the temptation to pick a mark that is someone you've seen before or know. For this exercise, a total stranger will yield the purest results.
So I did just that. I noticed a man in an olive and teal sweater with a fashionable (a little too fashionable) beret with pseudo-feather accoutrements stop for tea at a mobile kiosk. I could tell based on outfit that he was probably pursuing a career in warranty defense at GE; just something you picked up after a while on campus. I thought he might be a good mark, but he wasn't moving just then and I was. I thought about sitting down on a bench but thought about what India told me about "appearing suspicious", so instead I speculated as to how long it would take for his tea to be dispensed (not too long, given rapid steeping technology), and made a circle around the news display. This put me in a position right behind him just as he was leaving the kiosk. Great! Off to a good start.
India suggested that you should try to remain nearly three meters away at all times, and behind your mark when you could. This was a lot easier than expected, as he took an earring call. I heard him share some news about his coursework with presumably one or more of his parents. He asked about how Sadie was doing in her pre-application prep school, and then onto how the new car was handling. The conversation was boring, but I tried to remember the way he responded to each topic. Concerned about Sadie. Interested in the car. Called parent or parents at three-zero-nine p.m.
I continued until he reached the transport hub. Although I boarded far behind him, I wasn't able to sit anywhere except within a few feet of him. India warned me that if and when you have to be in close proximity to your mark, never look at them unless they address you directly, then act as though it w the first time you ever saw them. This was key here. At one point, the man let his empty tea cup slip from his hands, and wouldn't you know it, it rolled toward me. I picked it up and handed it to him. He politely apologized and smiled to me. I nodded, said, "no problem", and went back to staring at my pocket tablet. I did notice that he had a slightly crooked nose. Strange, I thought. Those things are a quick fix at the walk-in surgery clinics. Body modification was more efficient than ever, even though it was something that was still pretty much reserved for the rich, which this guy surely was. I wondered if he broke it recently and just didn't have time to fix it. Maybe in some sporting match, or something else physical. It gave me something to ponder.
When he got up to leave, I didn't...not yet anyway. I waited until he was already off of the vehicle before I did the same, maintaining my distance. This decision could have resulted in an error that would have given me away. After all, people might think, "why didn't she get up at the stop right away instead of waiting to get off?" Still, I took a gamble. and got away with it. He didn't see me, and when I followed him through the city square, my suspicious were confirmed. He entered a gymnasium and walked over to the volley-squash courts. So he was into sports! That wasn't so unusual, but I felt a little bit of pride at guessing as much from something physical. I decided to test my luck and go inside as well. I knew that there was no way that I could keep my eyes on him that closely, but the gym had an upper-level track. Time for a run, I thought! I bought some disposable gym wear from the machine and went jogging. From up above, I had a clear eye on what he was doing.
Several minutes in, I watched as his virtual racket missed the totally not virtual ball and collided with his arm. Well, that supported my theory about him breaking his nose in a sports-related injury. Once he was done, he took a standing shower and I could tell that he had a few extra pounds to spare. It was known that because of food rationing, being a little better endowed with weight was actually a sign of wealth, which is kind of why I thought that India was flirting with me this morning with her comment about being “not too fat”; and I thought I was actually too skinny. After all, if you had the wealth to eat well, you did, unlike those who didn't.
After he left the gymnasium, instead of going to the transportation hub, he continued down the street. That was lucky, as I didn't know how I was going to explain being on the same vehicle with this guy again. He made his way over to a fancier restaurant and went inside. Fuck. India made it clear that restaurants were a problem for trying to monitor a mark. You could never tell when the person was going to finish their meal, and unless you were visibly wealthy, it was highly suspicious to leave food unfinished on your plate. Fortunately, India made sure that I understood one of the most valuable skills when tracking someone: watch and wait. I had a good line of sight into the restaurant from the opposite side of the street. I saw my man sit down at a table with some other people who were clearly waiting for him. They were dressed in almost matching olive and teal outfits, which gave me the impression that they either worked together or were his parents trying to convey some kind of dynastic relationship. The age difference supported the latter. Along with them were a man and woman wearing suits with the same coloration as highlights. Of course! This was a placement dinner! They were vetting the young man for a future in the company. That explained the swanky eats. Unfortunately, this meant that I would be waiting in the dark for nearly two hours. Yet India's words rang out in my mind: "Patience is your greatest weapon."
Eventually they left the restaurant and the young man parted ways with his probably parents and the interviewers. I followed him from across the street to his dormitory. I knew I couldn't get inside with my own identity ring, because it wasn't coded for that entrance, but I had an idea. I waited a few minutes to see a light come on a few floors up, so I guessed that's where he lived. Then I took off my ring and waited for a couple of giggling girls to stumble their way back to the entrance. Time to see how far I could take this, I thought, as I approached them.
"Excuse me!" I flagged them down. "I'm such an idiot! My identity ring got snagged on some gym clothes I was recycling, and got caught in it, and totally fucked up their processing engine!"
"Oh, seriously?!" one exclaimed. Saying that you were without your identity ring was like saying you forgot how to count to ten or something. It was bad. "What are you going to do?", the other slurred. Clearly they had been enjoying some relaxing supplements. I picked a couple of winners, I thought.
"I don't know..." I pressed my palms to my face, like I was going to cry. "I need to get inside to my room so I can go to sleep. I'll have to go back in the morning for it. Would you please just let me in. I won't tell anyone! Please!" I thought I was being convincing, and for a moment, I thought they would take the bait. But the other one (less tipsy) held her arm out to block her friend from me.
"Hold on," Less Tipsy sputtered, "We can't do that, and you know that!" Fuck, this wasn't going to work, and I might have gotten myself into deep shit because of it.
"Wait, wait, wait a minute..." They were growing more nervous. "Just go in and get the resident authority. Tell her to check for my name, 'Carol Cross', okay? She should see my name in there, and can let me in, okay?" I was making this up, obviously, except that I did know that a resident authority (or, "RA") could verify this. Yeah, it was not going to work, but it would give me a chance to get away. Stupidstupidstupid...
They said they would and cautiously went inside; I didn't wait around for the aftermath and booked it back to my dormitory cell. India was waiting.
"You made a mistake," she started in on me already.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know! You don't have to rub it in." I didn’t even have time to wonder how she knew before she continued dressing me down.
"Actually I do. You realize that what we are going to be doing is illegal, yes?"
"Yes. Yeah, I do. I just..."
"You just thought that enthusiasm would make up for foolishness. It does not."
"Okay, fine. What did I do wrong?" Of course I knew, but I wanted to see if she did.
"You made someone suspicious, maybe more than one person. What happens if they see you again? What happens if they recognize you? We live in very suspicious times, where everyone is trained to pick up on any slight deviation in behavior and report it. You may have jeopardized everything, just because you wanted to impress me." She wasn't angry. I don't know if she really knew what happened or not, but I knew that she was right. I went pale and sat on my bed. India sat down beside me. I told her what I saw, and what I learned. She listened intently, and at the end of it, despite everything that came before, she said, "good".
We talked the rest of the evening about how I could use these skills when tracking a mark. She said something about "discretion being the better part of valor". I asked her what that meant. She said that Hideo told it to her when she was starting, and how it meant that one should always know when to stop. I was beginning to feel like I could trust India. I think I said something about how people shouldn't let other people tell them when to stop, because it was their right to push themselves as far as they could go. "Sometimes," she nodded, "that is true. But everything has a consequence, and no one can know absolutely every outcome to their choices. Sometimes the best choice is to accept that there is no choice at all. That means doing what is 'right' instead of what you 'want'."
***
I slept like a baby. I had forgotten that I had been up over a day and a half, and that I did more exercise in that time than I had in any given week prior. India surprised me in my room again that morning as I awoke, dressed in less intense apparel than when we first met. This outfit fit her much better than my clothes could. She let her hair down—literally—which was comprised of short but lovely rich curls. I was a little jealous.
"Hideo has approved you to participate in an 'assassination game'," she told me with a smile. "You are moving fast." I was a little surprised. I mean, I just started training with India, and already? I knew she had something to do with this, but I wasn't sure that I was satisfying her. I felt like I had only just begun.
"Are you sure I'm ready?" I inquired. In truth, I was thrilled. The sooner I get through this "test", the sooner I could get to work and make some money.
"No one is ever 'ready', Gena, but that is the point of the game. You will discover your weak spots, you will learn about your shortcomings, and compensate. You will leverage your strengths, which despite last night, includes your zeal and your perseverance. You have a target already. Your friend, Nancy, is still training, but it shouldn't be long before she's ready to play." I was surprised to hear this. After everything, I was sure Nancy would be ahead of me at this—she was at everything else.
"...Okay. Who is it?"
"His name is Sanjay Meera, and he is a third-year student here studying warranty defense law. Here is his picture." When India showed me the image of a slightly overweight young man in an olive and teal sweater, I couldn't stop laughing.
Chapter 5
The big day was here. Actually, two big days, and I'm not gonna lie, I was freaking out. First, my final project. We hit a slight snag with getting the automation line to properly secure the coolant wiring to the computer board, which would have killed us outright. Until I saw that there was a mismatched line of code that wasn't properly soldering the circuits; they were backwards. It would have meant that the refrigerator would have become a slow cooker instead...not exactly the best thing, to put it mildly. Everybody was so blown away when I noticed that. Honestly, I think that India's training, making me more and more observant about my world, was really what made it happen. But it's not like I could tell anyone about it.
The second big day was, of course, my first job. I had to go back to see Hideo—I hadn't seen him since we met—because India told me that he always gives out the instructions first-hand, so as to avoid any potential misunderstanding about the gig. He always managed to surprise me. Instead of the officious suit he wore on our first meeting, he was dressed like he was going on a tropical holiday. I had learned by now not to ask questions; I think this was another one of his tests.
"You've progressed well, Gena." I was surprised at the compliment but considering how I did on the assassination game exercise, I felt that I had something to be proud of. "You managed to sneak into Sanjay's dorm and tap him while he slept in his room. That's difficult to do without an identity ring." Hideo knew all of this already, because Sanjay must have told him. You see, I thought I was picking someone out at random to target for assassination, but he was always a part of the game, and an assassin in training as well. I suspect that he didn't have nearly as good of a mentor as I had in India, nor that she knew about Sanjay specifically at all. Which made me start to wonder just how compartmentalized Hideo was in his operation, and whether that would come back to haunt me.
"I learned my lesson from last time. Instead of trying to convince someone to let me in, I waited until the doors were about to shut, and tossed a stick into them to keep them from sealing."
"Those doors are mechanized and would break an average stick."
"...it was a big stick," I smiled, and remembered the branch as thick as a baseball bat which I slid across the pavement into the door. To be honest, I missed on my first try, but I didn't want to remind Hideo of that. I remembered when I made my way to Sanjay's room. Oh, and to be sure it was the right room, I watched him go inside and waited to confirm that the same window light came on again as it did before; it did. And I remember when I did tap him on the shoulder, he jumped as though I were actually going to kill him…until he started chuckling, saying that I "busted my cherry", and that he should have guessed who I was on the transport. I did have to wear glasses for this exercise, though. Hideo insisted that in the interest of integrity that the exercise be video recorded.
"Well, Gena, sit," Hideo instructed, and once again pointed to the high backed leather chair opposite his. He sat back and chewed on something that resembled a stick of meat (of course, it couldn't be real meat) which smelled smoky and sweet. In between chewing, he passed me a folder (again made from actual paper) and waived at me to open it, which I did.
Inside was a dossier on someone whose name I thought that I had heard somewhere before...Emil Cooper-Smythe. The documents described him as a Summa Cum Laude graduate of The AT&T Imperial Academic Consortium, which meant that this guy was certainly fucking important. He was a Vice President of "acquisitional research and intellectual property leveraging", which sounded made up just to give someone important a job that sounded like it was, too. There were a bunch of charts and graphs afterward which suggested that he was starting to recognize that he was as useless as his title made him out to be, and so he started "extending his reach" beyond his role. In some rare cases, Hideo indicated, this made a mediocre career into a legacy, but more often than not, it meant you just painted a target on your back. Emil was the latter.
Emil looked like someone for whom a brisk walk to the bathroom might give him heart palpitations. He was, and there was no other way to describe him, obese. Again, a sign of wealth, but maybe it was some lingering bias or envy, but I always thought that this wasn't healthy. I mean, if it weren't for artery-purging medications and muscle reinforcing dietary supplements, he might really be in danger of dying just by way of vigorous sex...not that I was planning on killing him in this fashion. In fact, I hadn't had any plans at all; Hideo was sure to direct me for my breakout role in his newest production without my direct input.
"For this role," Hideo directed me to another photo, this one of a woman wearing a smart business suit in the color scheme of AT&T and accessories to fit the brand, "you will be undercover. My people have securely obtained access to the database so to grant a temporary window for you to walk into the AT&T Imperial campus and track down Cooper-Smythe. Isolate and terminate him as you see fit but do so discreetly and without leaving any identifiable evidence behind. And this will be the ring you will wear." He pulled out a small box from his pants pocket, lifted the lid of exposing the black satin lining inside, removed then handed me the ring. It was all I could do to stifle a laugh at what looked like a marriage proposal.
The identity ring looked like everyone else's; that was the point. Years ago, some dumb kids thought it would be funny to "swap" rings at a party one time. Long story short, they were all carted away for "identity theft", a very serious felony, and never seen or heard from again. So I knew that if I were to swap rings, I would have to be damned sure to remember which one was actually mine when all was said and done.
"Emil works all day, every day. He has drawn the attention of his superiors, which has led us here. He will be easy to find, as he is toiling tirelessly to undo the errors of his recent business failure."
"What was it?" I asked. I felt like the faintest degree of inquisitiveness wouldn't be begrudged by my boss.
"The failure?"
"Yeah. What did he do wrong...especially?"
"Cooper-Smythe," Hideo began with a drawn out sigh, "thought it would be a good idea to bounce subsonic waves off of each person's biochip instead of their phone earrings as the next new method of telecommunications."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Biochips are made from a delicate non-dissolvable semi-organic compound, which reacts poorly to the direct introduction of some bandwidths. After causing nearly a dozen sacrifices to explode at various points of their body, Emil understood the flaw in his reasoning all too well." I was horrified, and yet, chalk it up to a newfound sense of gallows humor, I couldn’t help myself at cracking a joke.
"Your spleen, close at hand." Even Hideo chuckled ever so slightly.
"India informs me that your martial arts and weapons training is also progressing well enough." It was true, or at least I damned well hoped it was if I was about to put what little I did know to the test. In the past couple of weeks, we had cram session after cram session—between school and what little sleep I was allowed—in which she would instruct me in the use of some truly medieval weaponry and unarmed combat. She held to the idea that modern weaponry—at least, the kind you would need at the moment of truth—was too subject to misfiring or being jammed by external means to be called reliable. She speculated that this was due to corporate control over arms and armaments. Governments required that they had the ability to neutralize any deadly weapon remotely at their discretion. She said that this had to do with some kind of "rights compromise" over “bearing arms”. When she waxed historical, I was reminded of Nancy. I wondered how she was faring in all of this.
"Yes," I confirmed. "India showed me some fancy moves to protect me and disable my enemy. She used some language that I didn't understand when she described them, though."
"Krav Maga," Hideo interjected. "It is...was Hebrew. The language of Judaism, before Judaism and other religions were officially outlawed. It is a tactical martial art, blended from many fighting styles from...parts of the world that are no longer recognized and would not mean anything to you." Hideo looked down, and for the first and only time in which I knew him, he looked genuinely sad.
"Well, whatever it is, I feel like I'm ready. I don't want to wait any longer, because my tuition is going to be due soon, and..."
"You won't have to," Hideo again interrupted. "Your mission is tonight."
***
I am so fucked. I am so fucked. I am so fucked. I kept telling myself this as I bolted through the hallways and corridors of the half mile-high skyscraper that was the AT&T Imperial corporate headquarters—the local branch, at least—with cacophonic alarms blaring, strobes flashing, and 2000 degree laser beams blasting past me and charring assorted corporate art on the walls. If I survive this, and that's a big if, Hideo's gonna kill me himself.
***
Getting into the building was the easy part. Hideo's contacts, the disguise, and the forged identity ring let me just walk through the automated security checkpoint without a hassle. I had my hair up in a perky bun, and my glasses were modeled after a fashionable "horn-rimmed" style that was making a comeback. I clutched a business-styled replica of a tablet under my breasts, which were accented by a push-up bra interwoven into the business suit. This outfit included a skirt with a slit up the side, and something the rich people like to wear called "hosiery". I'd say that no one batted an eye, but as I made my way through the palatial lobby—replete with animatronic fountains, light shows, and corporate advertising—I turned more than a few heads. Some extra padding in key areas helped. I couldn't shake the feeling that corporate uniforms were really just socially acceptable fetish wear.
Hideo's dossier made it clear where Emil's office was—at the third from the top floor. The elevator to take me there couldn't reach that height by itself; this was said to be due to "safety concerns" over the potential for a sudden drop but given that it went up fifty floors already anyway, this seemed unlikely. In truth, it was an engineering issue. Today's elevators didn't use ropes—metal or otherwise—but instead used magnets to propel a cart up and down. Sounds like this would actually make it easier to build an elevator that went all the way to the top, right. Well, this is where the "safety" factors in a bit. See, suppose something did cause an elevator to fail up high and start falling. The magnets are forced to try to slow the descent of the elevator cabin, but they may not stop it entirely. So the elevator slowly hits the bottom floor and, yes, there's some damage, but it could have been a lot worse. But what happens if an elevator up much higher builds up too much momentum for the magnetic forces to sufficiently slow it down. As the velocity increases, the cabin falls and the shaft is unable to compensate. And you end up with some serious damage. I asked India about this before heading out, and as always, she had an answer that made sense, even if I didn't know whether it was true or not. Suffice to say, I had to take five elevators to get to the top...well, to the third from the top.
With each elevator, the higher levels grew more and more dull...up until the last one. It turns out that just like walk up apartments, people who have to waste more time on the elevator are usually lower on the food chain. The exception to this are the top several floors, which are more opulent than any others. Why? The people who have their offices up there usually fly into work via aerial transportation, so they just go "down" from the rooftop parking. (Sucks to be their personal assistant's though, I guess.)
As the final elevator door opened, I looked out unto a realm bedecked with flora that might have come from a dinosaur movie. It was lush and vibrant, and unlike anything else I had ever seen outside of fiction. And the air quality was so invigorating that I started to get a little giddy, which didn't help my jitters. I literally had to pinch myself to try to shake myself out of this state. The floor didn't resemble a typical office at all; it looked more like some kind of virtual nature conservatory. Yet here, right in front of me, were real flowers and real fresh fruit. I had to resist every impulse to grab one of the shiny red fruits to bite into. I did let myself pass by some pretty pink and white flowers, which had an earthy but sweet smell. If I did die here, I would think that this was my reward for something I probably hadn't earned, but who cared at that moment?
Drones flew by overhead with a light gravitronic thrum, not that I knew how they were powered at that time. India told me to expect these and reminded me of the EMP pointer that she gave me...just in case. They moved quickly, and although their primary purpose was to relay physical data, they also served as armed security with high temperature lasers. My Krav Maga training wasn't going to help much with them if push came to shove.
I pulled up an augmented reality (AR) readout from the tablet, which pointed me to Emil's office. It was perched at the height of this little greenhouse, like he was some lord in a fantasy realm looking over all of his fantastical underlings and his dominion. A winding double staircase—inefficient, but appropriately ostentatious—lead up to the atrium. Walking in heels up these stairs was murder.
And now I had to do it. India insisted that I consider what my first three methods of assassination should be, in order, before even setting foot on the job. We talked about poison, but despite Emil being someone who eats a lot in public to show off his wealth, he probably wouldn't be eating much in private—either from stress or from just being stuffed throughout the rest of the day's business meetings. But on the off chance that he asked me to get him some "coffee" (which he could no doubt afford), I might have the opportunity anyway. FYI, "coffee" was something only the rich got to have due to the rarity of being able to cultivate it. Most of us had "StimTea" instead, which was, well, tea—which was always plentiful—modified with chicory, nutritional supplements, and flavoring to seem "like" coffee. Spoiler: it wasn't.
Second was a knife. After my training, India gifted me with a carbon-polymer steel tactical blade. It was sharp and ever so slightly curved and had a serrated component toward the base. The hilt was black and so was the handle, which was specifically formulated to my grip. I still had training to do with the knife, which India described as being the most important weapon in my arsenal that wasn't me, but also the trickiest to handle without hurting yourself.
Finally, the..."gun". (I had gotten over saying it a bit more than I had before.) The gun was something made of steel, with a "magazine" to "feed" bullets into the "chamber". (I had to learn a lot of terminology; it was like taking a whole new class in school.) Pressing the trigger fired the gun, and a bullet exited from the barrel, and ideally entered what I was trying to kill—in this case, Emil. The gun had a wider attachment that screwed onto the end of it, which was designed to muffle the sound of the gun. So, why not use the "point and kill" weapon? Well, part of the problem was that the "silencer" caused it to be somewhat prone to jamming and far less accurate—and it wasn't always reliably silent. Besides, ammunition and materials for maintaining Hideo's stock of them was scarce. He didn't go into details, but in short, since guns (like these) were outlawed, as well as the parts and equipment to make and service them, they were rarer than a unicorn's tears.
Emil's office didn't actually have any doors; instead, it looped around through an antechamber that was filled with framed awards and photos of Emil in action poses in the boardroom and other self-aggrandizing images. He was certainly very proud of himself. The idea of having no doors was apparently some corporate attitude of always being "open" to feedback from anyone who cared to enter. In practice, however, it was very different. Despite that, I walked right into his office.
The room was itself like the lobby of the building; it even had its own swimming pool with luxurious, tropical plants kept warm in heated isolation spaces. The room itself was a bit cool in temperature, however. At the far end of the roughly thirty meter in diameter workspace, Emil lounged on a desk that looked like it was made of solid mahogany wood; it probably was, which would cost as much as it would take to feed a small town for a year. He didn't notice me yet, but I was still too far away for a clean kill. Besides, I kind of relished going to the trouble to get dressed up in this costume for my big performance. I didn't want to spoil it too soon.
Dozens of AR readouts filled his workspace. He was chatting on and on, sometimes yelling, at assorted voices, giving directives about purchasing, about research, about fourth honeymoon plans, about so much that I thought that he might be schizophrenic. I later learned that power elite like Emil sometimes had a second voicebox and neural wiring implanted so that they could literally carry on two conversations at the same time to double productivity—and literally talk out of both sides of their face while doing it.
I approached Emil with the tablet, concealing my right hand, which was maneuvering within my padded suit and into the special sheathe for my knife. I opted for the knife despite considering the gun as a more reliable way of killing under the circumstances. I mean, I still hadn't overcome all of my deep-seated anxieties about guns. They were the kinds of things they taught you in school at an early age as being instrumental in nearly causing the downfall of our society long past. I told this to India, who didn't judge my conclusions, but she did add that the most important thing that an assassin must do is question everything, even things that we were taught to be absolutely true by those we trusted the most. Despite that, I went for the knife. I didn't even equip the gun with the silencer before coming inside, which ironically turned out to have been a decision that might have saved my life...or caused the problem I had in the first place...or both.
As I gripped the handle fitted to my hand, Emil looked up and into my eyes. "You're new here." It wasn't a question. "What's the status of the lunar advertising beacon in quadrant four?"
"Holding at sixty percent." I faked a smile as much as I faked that detail; I was not as clever as I thought. Emil had a panic stricken look in his eyes, but I was never going to be sure exactly why. Was it because of the lie, or that he knew who I was. Regardless, he turned red and pressed his bulging arms down on his desk to stand up with great effort. He was scrambling, and I realized that it was now or never. I unsheathed the knife, and the rotund man let out a squeal so high pitched, that it was all I could do not to grab for my ears. This was something no one had anticipated, and I certainly didn't realize it at the time, but the "squeal" was actually a signal for the security drones to deploy...as much as it must have been out of fear.
I lunged with my dagger straight for his heart, but in his desperate attempt to flee, he tripped over a small table on the floor—really just for decoration—which flopped upward under his girth. Owing to some preternatural level of luck on Emil’s part, it smacked me in my right shoulder, and the force of the impact made me drop the knife. He picked his corpulent body up and started frantically racing around his office pell-mell.
I had two choices. Either I could spend time trying to retrieve the knife that went sliding across the over-slick floor—the same one that no doubt made Emil to trip and fall—or I could try my luck with something else, be it my bare hands or...the gun. I knew that Emil's sheer size would make it difficult to engage him directly in hand-to-hand combat. I was sure that he had no skill at martial arts or anything like it. Frankly, concepts of self-defense just didn't exist in our society. Regardless, he would probably fight to stay alive, and with his reach, his mass, and the amount of time it would take—more than I had, I was sure—I opted for (what Nancy once referred to as) the "great equalizer".
I pulled the gun from behind my back and aimed. I took a deep breath as India instructed, squeezed, and exhaled. My shot did not miss; rather in one single bullet, the squeals stopped, and Emil crashed into the window that he was careening toward in his fear. I watched the window shatter into a million shards and I was stunned as he passed through it and fell. I had no need to confirm the kill.
What surprised me about the window was that all of the windows that I had ever known were made out of fiberglass, and surely would have resisted such an impact, even from someone of such a size as Emil. I later learned that these palatial offices would often indulge in luxuries like real glass windows. They did produce a much clearer window through which to look down upon the world from on high, but they had one obvious drawback which Emil just discovered.
I had no time to ponder this further as that same gravitronic thrum grew louder and louder, alongside a wave of obnoxious sonic weaponry and strobe effects. These were designed to slow and disable any intruders and make them easier pickings for the lasers. I couldn't stay, and my exit plan was blown. There was no walking out now. I bolted toward the opposite entrance to the office from which I came in, picking up my knife in one swift movement. My heart was beating a thousand beats a second, but India had ingrained that one important message over all others: breathe. In spite of the circumstances, I did just that, and I felt myself overcoming the sound, the lights, the fear. Clarity was a hell of a drug.
As I put my head out of the entrance, I saw a blast of concentrated light melt a statue of a...well, I'm not sure what it was, but it was melted goo a split second later; I was grateful it took the hit for me. I ducked back and retrieved my EMP pointer. I considered trying to shoot at the drones, but I had no idea what kind of defenses they might have. Truthfully, "bulletproofing" something was irrelevant these days mostly for the reasons I've mentioned about the apparent rarity of guns, but given that security drones like these were clearly prepared for an assault, I couldn't be too sure.
I kicked over the display pedestal of the meaningless artwork, which prompted yet another burst from the drone...just a narrow enough window for me to whip around and fire the EMP at it. Success, and then some. Not only did the thing explode (I had to duck back for cover again), but the shrapnel disoriented another drone approaching, which in turn whipped around so fast, that its laser cut a couple of others in half. A chain reaction can be a beautiful thing.
Unfortunately, the laser also cut down some support beams, and I literally felt the ground giving way beneath me. I raced down the winding...obnoxiously fucking irrelevant staircase and dove just before it crashed under me into a plumb of debris. I had no time to stop as the few drones I did manage to eliminate were just the vanguard. The thrum grew, and more came forth from ventilation shafts in the ceiling and the walls like hungry arachnids in some horror VR sim.
I knew that the elevator was a fool's errand, what with being chased by killer robots and all. Still, I was unsure where the stairs were. There was no requirement for them to be marked for safety. It was considered "gauche" to have glaring safety signs interfering with the aesthetic, it would seem. That kind of screwed me right now. This definitely qualified as an "emergency".
I dodged around a hidden corner in the atrium, which I only spotted out of the corner of my eye thanks to where some leaves were blowing in the wind—artificial no doubt. Concealed behind a feathery curtain was a stairwell. Thank you! I bolted up the stairs three at a time, and controlled breathing or not, this was exhausting. I heard the drones hovering upward, which only made me realize that I had to hustle faster than ever as they definitely had the advantage in here.
Eventually, I made my way to the rooftop service door, which was (of course) locked by an electronic mechanism. Thankfully, the EMP pointer had recharged, and I made liberal use of it on the door. And with a swift kick, the door flew open onto the entirely too windy rooftop. I knew what came next would also have to be done with the utmost of speed. Thankfully, India gave me one very important last trick to use.
***
India and I sat on the roof of my university dormitory just after a final debriefing and training session. We were covered in sweat but feeling invigorated. I'll be honest; I was beginning to relish this more than sex. Exercise wasn't something poor people like me had the luxury of doing. After all, we never felt like it was worth burning off the few calories we were allotted, but I see why people did it. India had been keeping a small satchel off to the side on the roof since she arrived, and she handed it to me as we recovered.
"It's insurance." I wasn't familiar with the word, but India explained that it was like a contingency in case something went wrong. I opened the satchel and inside was a kind of janitorial uniform. I unfolded it and noticed that it had several buttons and small magnets interlaced within the fabric at key places. The legs and arms of the jumpsuit could be rolled up and bunched up to make it appear less conspicuous. But the most interesting detail was that on the inside, it could be reversed to resemble a padded business suit.
"Wow...what do I do with this?" I stupidly asked.
"Think of it like 'camouflage'. It will help you blend into your environment. But also, you can reverse the outfit to change who you are pretending to be. One minute, you are a personal assistant. The next, you are a janitor. The same is true for the heels." She held out a pair of black stiletto heels that pained me just to look at them. She depressed a small button on the backs of each, and they dropped down faux boot heels to make them look like completely different footwear. It even activated a heat-based resin inside that made them appear scuffed and dirty.
"Riches to rags, huh?" I smirked, and India followed suit.
***
I took off my outfit, leaving me bare chested and in my skimpy panties on this freezing fucking roof. India did show me how to quickly disrobe in one quick motion, and like draping a cape over my body, allow the magnets embedded into the outfit to begin attaching themselves again and complete the transformation. The outfit along my left leg was still bunched up, so I looked like a janitor with a fondness for elegant stockings, showing off my gams. I hurriedly yanked the leg down to conceal the legwear and walked around to one of the fashionable air cars parked on the roof within a wind-resistant enclosure. I grabbed a rag and started wiping it clean, trying to be as disinterested and occupied in the task as possible. My hope was that the drones wouldn't identify me as the assassin.
The flying death machines floated upward and over the rooftops, scanning away. One approached me and scrutinized me at close range. By this point, I had smeared some polish on my face, and tussled my hair beneath a worker's cap. As it turned out, the drones operated on sight recognition, and my disguise was sufficient to complete the ruse. After the drone took off, I returned to wiping down the air car for a couple more minutes before quietly making my way back through the building, floor by floor, elevator by elevator, all the way down and out of the chaos. No one ever pays attention to a janitor, India told me. She was right, and I was alive for it. And, I hoped that I was not going to be punished by Hideo for the screw up...but still get paid, which was kind of the whole point. Money...the things we do for it.
Chapter 6
The arrangement Hideo and I had was this. For each job I completed, I was paid enough money to cover me for another semester. I also received some "walking around money" to pay for incidentals, but only a little, since Hideo made it clear that he didn't want to draw attention to how I was suddenly coming into all these riches. He said that after I became more experienced, that I would be able to perform more hits, but he was throttling my performance for now. To be honest, after the shit show with Emil, I was a little relieved.
The funny thing was that Hideo wasn't mad...not even perturbed about it. He explained that despite appearances, Emil Cooper-Smythe was not a well-liked VP, and he was pretty arrogant about his security. The drones were his, yes, but he really didn't know anything about how they detected intruders. Hideo was aware of the security measures in place, down to the finest detail. I knew better than to ask, but Hideo must have been a mind reader, because he explained what I was wondering about anyway, as I sat in his office beyond the black-lit bar and beyond the pharmacy front where I relinquished my gun and knife. Funny, but I felt a little naked without them right now.
"The reason I didn't tell you about the drones," Hideo began as he paced the room, wearing a cloth shirt tied at the waist, with a kind of ridged blue skirt over his legs. "The reason was that I needed to see for myself how resourceful you really were." He slowly paced in his wooden sandals that elevated his height by a couple of inches which I couldn't believe were comfortable at all. "It wouldn't be enough for me to give you everything you needed to complete your mission. Otherwise, you would fail at the moment when this was lacking. I don't want an automaton to do my work; I want someone who can follow orders and adapt to the situation as needed. Critical thinking is what separates you from a drone. If you didn't have that, you would be of no use to me. And you would have died anyway."
I was mad, okay. He just told me that he withheld key information that could have gotten me killed just to prove a point, and maybe even get out of paying me. So when I got up and kicked over his fancy-schmancy high-backed leather chair and shouted some very colorful profanities at my new boss, I thought this would be my last job, one way or another. Instead, he was on me in a flash, and tried to throw my body to the ground, almost exactly as India had done before. What surprised me—and maybe even Hideo—was that I rolled out of the throw, and—to this day, I'm never sure if he let me do this, or if I surprised him right back—I threw him to the ground. He smiled.
"You have spirit, like a dragon. Good. I would like to extend you an invitation to be one of my contract players. Do you accept?" I laughed, which meant "yes".
***
Nancy and I shared a bowl of homemade popcorn pasta in her dormitory cell while we talked about our respective missions. We were so excited, we were giggling and recalling each detail with glee at our respective successes. We kept hushed voices, but there were often interjections and exclamations of "no way" or "you're kidding", each of us doubting the other's story. But it was true. We both survived a life-or-death situation. We both proved our mettle and were forged stronger for it. We were up and coming stars in the assassination circuit, and we bonded over this even more.
Nancy told me that her training was harder going than mine. She injured herself a little early on in her training. She complained that her mentor was impatient with her, but despite this, he was "fair"...at least, that's how she put it. His name was Goram, and she told me that he was a large man with bulging muscles. I was a little annoyed to see a glimmer of arousal in her expression as she described his hairless, statuesque body, with nary an ounce of body fat on it, like some kind of "Adonis", whatever that was. He was teaching her martial arts as well—something she called "Tae Kwon Do" and "Systema"—but he wanted her to also be familiar with various weapons, including razor wire. Nancy explained that she didn't correctly wind the wire in such a way to prevent injury, so she cut herself, which kept her from completing her mission before me. She also said that she was given a gun and a knife. "Standard issue," Goram told her.
"Toby's going to tell my family back home that I've been granted an internship. Hideo hired him because of his skill at forgery and other things, so producing the docu-data to support this is right in his wheelhouse." I know that Nancy didn't intentionally use words I didn't know—seriously, what the fuck is a "wheelhouse"—but it bugged me more than I would like to admit. "He's even offered to do the same for you. I think he has a crush on you." Nancy giggled; I retched. But the sad truth was that I didn't have a plan for how I was going to explain why I was now able to pay for the next semester. Even my parents wouldn't believe that I had suddenly stepped up to become a dedicated academic savant. Even a "scholarship" sounded like a stretch, but it was better than nothing. And no amount of working a side job—be it in waste disposal (which was my cover job) or something else—would convincingly finance another year. Those kind of jobs were for kids whose parents insisted that they develop a "work ethic", which usually meant that they did something to piss off their parents back home in the first place. But some detail about Nancy's cover story nagged at the back of my mind.
"Wait...what happens when someone comes checking to see that you're actually in a real internship?"
"Well, that's the best part! You see, Toby is a kind of 'liaison', Goram said. Apparently, Hideo and GE University have some kind of 'non-hostility agreement'...off the radar, of course. So he has contacts here that can generate the 'appearance' of an internship for all intents and purposes, while Toby fabricates the evidence. Simple, huh?" It did sound like they had all of the angles figured out. I just couldn't figure out how such an arrangement came into being in the first place. Nancy and Toby came from a rural backwater in Montana, so I had to wonder just how Toby and Hideo ever met in the first place. Maybe I was overthinking things. I was still really excited about everything that had changed for Nancy and me. We weren't going to have to separate, and we were going to continue on our academic careers toward a brighter future for ourselves and our families. So what if we had to get a little "dirty" to get there. Objective morality was an outmoded concept, as extinct as birds and dinosaurs. We had our whole lives ahead of ourselves. What could go wrong?
***
"What do you mean 'expelled'?!" I didn’t even realize that I was shouting. My mother's tearful voice on the other end of the phone call had just dropped a shockwave on me that felt like she just said that aliens had invaded (even the microscopic ones discovered decades ago). "Aiden? Expelled?! No way."
"It's true," Nadia mewled. "He hit someone in school! It's over, it's all over..." I was shocked. Violence in schools was a felony and that extended to any kind of unwanted contact. Expulsion was a slap on the wrist. He might have gone to jail. "He's been so removed lately. He wouldn't talk to your father or me, and he has been out at all hours every night. Every time I say your name, he starts screaming!" Oh fuck. I should have seen this coming.
Aiden was smart...too smart. Much smarter than me, yes. And he deserved better. Instead he got cheated when Mom and Dad picked me to go to school. I would call them every week or so to check in. It was always the same. "How's school? How are your grades? Did that nice teacher ever get back to you about that tuition assistance program?" All I could tell her was "Okay. Okay. Not yet." I know she was proud of me, and I know she shared my progress reports with my father and Aiden. But Aiden wasn't stupid. He knew what I was doing...I mean, not the assassination stuff, no way, but that I was essentially blowing the scholarship...something he would surely have found a way to make better use of, if only he had the chance.
Something we both had in common: our intense personalities. We were both a bit bold, which got me plenty of dates in school. (Everybody wants to be with the wild one, admit it.) But Aiden always seemed to be able to channel that into his studies. If he was feeling frustrated about something, he would turn inward, yes, but would also use that to further his education, and emerge with some newfound skill to show me. He always wanted to prove that he was "good enough". Shit, Aiden. You never had to prove anything to me.
And now, he hates my fucking guts. And he's no longer turning it inward, he's letting it all come out. And I was a hypocrite, just like everyone else. Just imagine: he socks some mouthy punk in school or something and he gets expelled, while I just blew some VP's brains all over his penthouse office floor and got paid. Seems fair, right?
"Where is he?" I asked, trying to quell the tightening knot in my stomach. Getting any more upset would only make things harder for Mom.
"He's in his room, doing something with the computer. He's been playing really loud music. I've asked him to turn it down. A noise complaint would register as a negative occurrence on our corporate profiles, and we're struggling to get by as it is."
"Okay. Just...don't panic. We'll figure something out." My words echoed off of the walls of my dormitory cell and felt just as hollow as I did inside right now. "Call me if there's anything I can do, or if anything changes, okay?"
"Okay, Gena. I'm so sorry to burden you with this. You've been studying so hard and doing such good work at the school. An internship! How wonderful! I'm so proud of you." Hearing that your mother is "proud of you" when you know you're up to no good is like having someone use a peeler on your heart. But the absolute last thing she needed was more grief, and I was willing to sacrifice a little of my self-worth to lift her spirits.
"Thank you, Momma. It's all because of my best friend, Nancy. She recommended me for the internship. It was a real blessing." It wasn't. When you don't have any other plans of your own, you take what's available. And what bugged me now was that I was indebted to Toby Monroe. I mean, I couldn't pin down why I didn't like the guy, but you just get that vibe from some people...people you know are using you, even if you are getting something out of it yourself.
"Knowing that you've pulled yourself up out of all of the bad situations you got into when you were younger gives me hope for Aiden. I used to be so afraid that you would be adrift without a future, but I never used to feel that way about your brother. Now it feels like everything's been turned around. I want you to know that I am so happy that you've grown up so much. I want to believe that Aiden will, too, even if this is going to be something he's going to have to live with for the rest of his life. Keep making us proud, darling." I felt like I was going to cry and be sick with guilt all at once.
"Okay, Momma," I choked. "Okay. Listen, I gotta go. Nancy's coming over to study." I lied to my mother again...not for the first time, not for the last.
"Oh, okay, dear. Work hard and may fortune smile on you. I love you!" I love you, too.
***
India told me that I shouldn't blame myself...everybody says that. But she added that each person is responsible for doing what they can to keep the poison of envy out of their hearts. I told her about my concerns about Aiden in the middle of our sparring match. She knew right away in a way that no one else could that I was deeply sad about it all. She put her hand on my shoulder; she was not a hugger. But her words helped to clear the fog around my mind anyway.
"Did you know that I cry every time I take a life?" India asked. She never told me that before, and I shook my own tearful head back and forth. "I balled my eyes out on my first assignment. I was twelve. I was alone. I only had a box cutter and a stained cloth dress. I loved life and I was so happy to be alive. Hideo told me that this was good, and that I should never forget it. But that there were people who wanted such a light as mine, as he put it, to be extinguished. Hideo said that people who are not filled with the light of life will always be submissive, will always follow a path of darkness. They will always just accept something for what it is because they live in darkness. They no longer have the light to see all of the splendor that is all around them, or the messes that need cleaning up to make their world beautiful. I believed him, and for a time, I saw people change." She paused here and she had this distant look in her eyes...searching for something, but I didn't know what.
"Things have become complicated," she continued. "But always know that if you look for the light, even if you have lost your way, you will be better off than if you never tried at all." I trusted India, but for the only time I ever knew her, I felt that in this last platitude, so unlike her, she held something back.
India became more than my mentor; she was my friend. She helped me occupy a mental state in my missions that I never knew existed. Fear became a distant thing as time went on, as my missions with Hideo progressed. My skills sharpened, yes, but my mind more so. I trusted her in a way that, despite everything, I didn't trust Nancy with. Yes, I told Nancy about Aiden, and she genuinely was distraught to hear it. She cried too. And don't get me wrong; it wasn't like I didn't trust Nancy. It's just that I never, ever felt like India wasn't going to be straight with me. Sure, she had her secrets, her past, but didn't we all?
***
The next semester came and went like lightning, and I performed two jobs for Hideo. Very different ones that went much more smoothly than my first. I infiltrated the Unilever Regency Corps compound in Europe—yay, international travel—and slit the throat of the VP for "hydroponic exfoliating market distribution" while she was snuggled up with her two boy toys in her ski chalet. (They're fine, by the way...physically, anyway. I chloroformed them, but I’m sure that they had a real rude awakening.) I also fought off a trio of rather inept bodyguards protecting a Vice Senator from Rhode Island, who thought it would be a good idea to introduce calories derived from recycled organs into the drinking supply for his state. Aside from the raw gross out factor, what really incurred the ire of his masters was that he planned to share such a discovery with the population at large. I guess it must have offended someone's delicate sensibilities for anyone other than the power elite to have a more socially desirable body than they did. So, off went his head. Not literally, though. I mean, India taught me how to snap a neck in one motion (imagine turning a giant bottle cap). It's more trouble than it's worth to actually decapitate someone. There's the mess, and...it's just not worth the hassle.
***
Aiden left. Mom called me in one of an increasingly frequent number of frantic, tearful calls, telling me that she came home one day to find his room in our apartment in disarray. He took his computer, but all of his childhood toys and other bits of nostalgia were left behind and deliberately destroyed or defaced.
There was no getting around it. Aiden was gone. No last message, no goodbye. Our hearts were broken. The little boy who I grew up with was as good as dead...at least, that's what the old me would have thought, just like Mom and Dad did. I knew that there was a whole underground world at work now, and I was certain that Aiden would find his way, whether he liked it or not, into that world of shadows...the one in which I now dwelt, walking the line between them. But I couldn't tell her. I wonder if it would have made any difference.
***
Toby would take Nancy and I out for "dinners" at semi-formal establishments. He said it was to get a “pulse check” on our performance. Hideo surely must have warned him not to make too big of a show, and for that one thing, I was grateful. Toby always paid. I reached for the bill the first time this happened, and he touched my hand in such a way that when he grabbed for it, I felt my skin crawl. He also always dropped off Nancy at her dormitory first, and lingered in the car before departing toward mine, trying to make small talk. Tonight was one such night, and my patience was dwindling in inverse proportion to his rising courage to make a move with me. I could smell it on him.
"You do know that I've always liked you, Gena. You do know that, right?" The smell of synthetic Merlot wafting off of his breath—his tongue practically wagging out of his mouth—made me feel like I was swimming in it. And I used to like Merlot.
"You keep making that clear, Monroe." Now I know why Hideo always called him that, and in that way...even if it was for different reasons. I didn’t want any level of familiarity between us.
"That's right. Why hide who we are? Why pretend that we are just the clothes that we wear or the jobs that we do. We're living, breathing, human beings. We all have the same hot blood pumping through our veins. We all want pleasure and happiness. Why hold that back?" He liked to ask rhetorical questions. The idea was that it kept someone's attention, forced them into the conversation. I had a feeling that Toby liked to get things by force when he could get away with it.
"I'm not hiding anything," I sneered. I probably shouldn't have answered at all.
"Oh, but you are, Gena. You are." He leaned in. "We all are, and we have to for the public. You've learned how dangerous this world is. You understood that when I extended my invitation to Nancy on to you as well. Nancy is a sweet girl. Pretty. She's family. But Gena, we're like family, you and I. We've become so much closer since we started working together."
"You're my cover story for my job with Hideo, Monroe. Nothing more. Are we clear?" He leaned back, but his smirk widened. I wondered why.
"Do you know what my job is? No, not for Hideo. My real job, if you prefer that word?" The expected dramatic, inebriated pause. "I'm a recruiter. I find talent. It's what I do. I see what others overlook. I see greatness, and when I see greatness, I direct it to its intended purpose. Ask yourself, Gena...really ask yourself where you would be if I hadn't seen your talent for what it is."
"And just what is my talent, since you're going to tell me whether I like it or not?"
"You're smarter than you think." He paused, and damn it, I listened. "You have this idea that everyone else around you is smarter than you, that you don't deserve the things you have, your opportunities." Toby leaned back in. "But I know different. Strength alone doesn't succeed in our line of work. You can be strong, you can be quick, you can be as powerful as anyone else. But it comes down to intelligence. That decides who lives and dies. And you're very much alive to me, Gena." He kissed me while I was still mentally processing what he said. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and his hands maneuvered over my breasts with a speed that I didn't think he had in him, to be honest. It wasn't until he started tearing open my blouse that I shook off my stupefaction and my newfound instincts kicked in. I shoved him back into the driver's side of his hover car. Hard. His driver's side door opened up from the impact, spilling him out onto the pavement, his obnoxious nose smashing into the pavement. I heard him cursing me pretty foully as I exited his little rape trap and stepped onto the street.
"I've got a question for you. You like questions, right?" I asked (rhetorically) as I walked around to the other side of the car, my heels clicking angrily against the pavement. "You know why I don't kill you right fucking now, Monroe?! Do you?! Because you know that I can. You saw that talent in me, remember?!" He grabbed his nose, blood dripping out from it, and glared at me. Also, very hard. He didn't answer. "Because no matter what you seem to think, you are not the boss of me! We work together. We have to, even if I don't have to like it. I came on this little dinner party because your niece is my best friend, and for whatever fucking reason that she has that I don't know about it, she trusts you. So I play along. You want to know why I pretend, as you put it? It's because I want happiness! Don’t you get it?! I don’t like you! But I'll work with you because I want the people who I do like to be happy. And that includes Nancy...and that's why I'm not going to tell her about this little...incident." In spite of it all, I extended a hand to pick him up off of the ground. The little goblin refused and spit blood onto the street, and muttered some offensive commentary about my genitalia. Fine...sulk, you little goblin.
I looked him in the eyes, and I didn't feel any fear. Yet in this moment I'm in right now, when I look back and think of this confrontation, I wish I ended him right then and there. I don't know if it would have mattered. Memories are rich with regret, and this was no exception. I stared at him, no longer out of hatred, or even pity. Just a sense of confidence that I really didn't need to be afraid of him. I guess it was also part arrogance then. I should have been afraid of Toby Monroe. Very afraid.
"...I'll walk home." I turned and left him clutching his bloodied nose and went back to my dorm.
Chapter 7
My heart wasn't in it anymore. It wasn't burnout, and it wasn't guilt; I was reminded that I was expendable...that everything else Hideo said about my importance to his mission wasn't really true. I suppose I started to respect him, even if I didn't like him all that much. The same could not be said for all of his staff.
I was starting my third semester...only one more to go after that, and I had been busy. The education required for the kind of work I was pursuing usually didn't last longer than two years. Beyond that, you were just killing time, and probably weren't good enough to get hired to work in their company in the first place. The competition was fierce. We no longer worked in teams, but independently. We weren't doing as much hands-on project work but studying protocol for our behavior at work and away from it. See, businesses would monitor the online activity of its employees to ensure that they represented only the finest examples of the experience that they sold to the public. That meant that if someone on the street glared at you, you could take an image of them with your pocket tablet and report them to their employer, and they would almost certainly be punished for it. It's funny, but I used to think of this as a good thing. I mean, everybody is accountable to perform in society in a way that befits a productive member of it in accordance to the holy precepts of The Platinum Rule, which was as close to what passed as "religion" nowadays.
But I started to think about why The Platinum Rule only seemed to be something which people like myself or my parents were accountable for following. Why was it that the kind of assholes that I was sent to kill were exempt from it? Why is it that they got to live in grandiose palaces, drive flying automobiles with recliner seats? Why they got to eat exotic foods made from food stuffs I didn't even think existed anymore, like oranges?! I chalked it up to resentment at first and adjusted my prescription doses to compensate. But eventually, I started to think that there was a very real reason for why I felt this way. I mean, I had actually seen with my own eyes how the power elite lived...and I was pretty mad that it was always being dangled in front of us servants of the world, even though almost none of us would ever get even close to living such a lifestyle. Despite my reasons for coming to GE University in the first place, I found that I didn't care about it anymore...but now thanks to a completely new, unexpected reason.
I brought this up to Nancy once, carefully. And what she said surprised me. She said, "I know." I expected that she was going to call me crazy or try to talk me out of my decision to stop taking most of my medications. I mean, I took the vitamins and vaccines, but I stopped the mood stabilizers entirely. I was worried that I might be going crazy, but she comforted me as only a real friend can. I had grown much more comfortable with our platonic relationship as of late. I stopped fantasizing about it becoming something more and stopped letting my lonely heart steer where my head should instead. It was nice to be close to someone and feel a deeper, emotional connection that wasn't dominated by sexual desire. One more thing India taught me about life.
"Listen," Nancy started, as she rested her hand on my shoulder. "I haven't had any medications." I waited for the end of that sentence, but it didn't come. And then I laughed because I thought she was joking. She wasn't. “No vitamin shots, vaccines, or anything. It’s okay. I haven’t keeled over dead or anything.” I stopped laughing. I wasn’t even able to process how someone could not be a raging mess of disease or not be completely malnourished without those things in our society. In time, I would learn.
"I have to tell you something," Nancy continued, her face more serious than I had ever seen it. "But you have to promise that you won't tell anyone, and I mean anyone, especially Uncle Toby. Agreed?" There was no way I was ever going to say more than two words to her uncle ever again, and if I did, they would rhyme with "truck" and "do".
"Yeah, Nancy. I promise." She took in a deep breath and told me who she really was.
"Uncle Toby and I come from Montana. You knew that, I know. But can you name one town in Montana? Or one company based out of it?" I couldn't, but then again, I never claimed to be a geography expert. "It's because we...lived off the grid." ...What? My best friend was a..."Freeman"? She continued: "We moved out there eleven years ago, but Toby didn’t stay that long. He said that he wanted to be a 'scout' for our community. To see what changes in the world might have an impact on ours. Daddy was against it. So was Toby’s wife, Agatha, but he was insistent. Honestly, Toby was always the most likely to leave our community and return to the industrialized world anyway, so Daddy ultimately agreed. We didn't see or hear from him for over a year. Then he came back...he traveled by way of the abandoned highway system...did you know about those? Anyway, one day he came back and said that he had established himself as a university recruiter here, and that this would give him ample opportunity to learn about the world and pass that knowledge back to us through secure means."
I listened to Nancy's story, and struggled to think of anyone who could find Toby affable enough to hire him or marry him in the first place. But then, Hideo did, and so did Nancy's Aunt Agatha…respectively.
"Toby would make the pilgrimage back home to Montana every year or so, and he would always check in on me, saying how much I had grown. A couple of years ago, he asked me if I was interested in college, although he would do this out of earshot of my dad. He knew that my dad was more conservative about returning to the world you grew up in...something I didn't understand back then. So when Uncle Toby told me that he had an opportunity to get me into GE University for a "trial run", to see if I liked it, I couldn't say no. I regret that I snuck out to do it, and boy, was my daddy mad about that! I think that his sister...y'know, Aunt Agatha, calmed him down a bit. After all, the die was cast, so what could be done about it, right?" Nancy gave a somewhat uneasy smile, then her gaze fell upon the floor.
"Daddy doesn't know."
"Doesn't know what?" I stupidly asked. I mean, seriously Gena, what else would she be talking about?
"About my 'other life'...I mean, how can you tell your daddy that you do something like this, when he tells you all the time growing up about why killing is wrong. But I mean, people kill animals for food, so..." She gasped and put both of her hands to her mouth. Wait...what did she mean by "animals"? Weren't they all basically extinct?
"Nancy, what's going on?" I felt like layers and layers of reality were constantly melting away. Was I going crazy?
"Okay. Shoot...I guess I really am bad with secrets." She sighed. "So, you know how basically everyone accepts certain things to be true because everybody says so. Well, that all depends on how you define 'everybody'. That's what I believe, and so does the rest of my clan…our community. We're about twenty strong out on the fringes of the Montana wilds. It all started with my family and a few likeminded others who started to have real doubts about whether what we were being told about the world was true or not. He found something while working on the air car of some rich VP, tossed under the seat like it was some kind of novelty. It was a book. Yeah, he didn't know what to make of it, either, since he thought that books were supposed to be wasteful uses of depleted resources and all. But there it was staring him in the face. It was titled "Audubon Field Guide", or something like that.
"My daddy flipped through it. No one could see him working on the car from inside, so he felt safe. He thought that it was some kind of fiction or so. But there were page markings and dates...current dates. Like someone had been using this book recently. And that's when he began to wonder about whether birds were really extinct, just because we’d never see any in the cities. Little by little, he started gathering more and more clues, about that and other inconsistencies. And then he was approached by someone we already know." I knew who she was going to say.
"Hideo," Nancy continued, "told my father that everything he believed in was a lie. I mean, the lie that everyone tells you to believe, so that everyone can feel secure at night. But really, Gena, the whole point is that no one feels secure. We all scramble to make something of ourselves, but we're spinning our wheels. We never get anywhere because the game is fixed. And Hideo showed us that we were right. That there was a whole world out there, waiting to be rediscovered. We just had to be brave enough to leave the comforts of our proverbial caves.
"Not all of us were wanting to go, to abandon what we knew of civilization. My Uncle Toby used to fight with my daddy in long arguments about it. But his wife didn't want to be without her family, so Toby eventually yielded to it. It's funny, but I think that Uncle Toby found something in Hideo's moving words of 'revolution' that stirred something within him. He started spending more and more time with Hideo, and before long he became his right-hand man. It took a while for me to adjust, but what surprised me was that despite everything we always heard about the Freemen being criminals and terrorists, we weren't though. I mean, I guess you could call Hideo that from that standpoint. Honestly, I never actually met him until last year when you did. I only heard about him through Toby and occasionally my dad. Toby talked about him a lot. I think that he really wanted me to meet him."
Nancy and I sat among our empty dinner bowls on the floor, our legs crossed, just talking with one another for the rest of the night. She told me so much about her life in Montana. I was afraid. I was unnerved. But I wasn't mad that she kept this from me. No, as it turned out, I would cherish this night for as long as I lived. A moment of peace and camaraderie. A calm before the storm.
I have recently come to understand that the world I live in is full of so much more than I ever could have imagined. And I never would have learned about it if it weren't for the people I met. Except...it just seemed...wrong somehow that the way that I learned it was through killing. Not that I was remorseful or anything, it's just...it felt like it didn't quite make sense. If Hideo was supposed to be some kind of "revolutionary", what was he doing taking jobs like these. It all felt like he was just a part of the machine, too. Wasn't what Nancy and her "clan" were trying to do supposed to be something "outside" of this world? At what point do you stop being used?
***
"I thought you should hear it from me first," Hideo began, pointing as always toward that (now slightly dented) high-backed leather chair, indicating that I should sit down. "To be clear, I am not a man of apologies." He sat opposite of me, wearing a tactical vest and dark pants with pockets on the sides. He looked ready for a mission himself. He leaned in. " I am also not someone who explains himself to others unless it furthers my mission. So when I tell you what I am about to tell you, understand that it does not come from the heart but from the head. Do we understand each other?" I nodded and felt a chill run down my spine. "Do you understand why Monroe recruits for me?"
"No." I answered honestly. I didn't know if Hideo knew about what Toby tried on me, or even if he cared.
"I will explain to you. My operation requires someone who can identify an aptitude for assassination, but not allow personal sentiment to cloud their decisions to invite one into our fold. It is something that I discovered with your mentor. She filled the role Toby now has. But she disobeyed me. She is my greatest assassin, but she would not recruit someone who I picked out as a candidate. She believed that it was 'wrong' to pull that person from their life of lies. She believed that the person would end up only suffering more if she were taken from her delusion. We disagreed; I 'demoted' India and found a more...compliant tool in Monroe." Hideo paused and stared into my eyes with an intensity that burned. "You do not like Monroe." It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.
"...No," I choked out. "No, I don't."
"Your job doesn't require that you like him. Your job does require that you accept his judgment. Are we clear?" Dread was washing over me like acid rain. Everything was screaming on the inside. But the real screaming was coming up in mere moments...along with my lunch. Hideo handed me a dossier, not marked like those he used for a target; this was blank. When I opened it, my heart died.
"Toby has been scouting your brother for over half of a year. He has swallowed the button and joined our cause." Noise emerged from my mouth...and bile. I flailed around the room, grief-stricken. The young boy I knew and loved for all of my childhood, the brother who I always hoped would have a better life than I had was now a part of my grim world...my dirty secret. And there was no way that he wasn't going to know that I was a part of it as well.
Those pictures of Hideo's newest recruit still haunted me. He looked so different than I remembered. His head—his eyebrows—were shaved off, and he had strange tattoos and piercings all over his body. And that sinister smirk in his photo—which resembled a mugshot more than anything—told me that his well of fucks to give had officially run dry.
Hideo sat there, watching me flail around his lair like I remembered watching Emil doing a year ago. I think that he was ready in case I became violent toward him, although he didn't show it. I smashed those stupid bottles of booze. I tore down the pictures on his wall. I screamed and screamed...and no one came running...why?
After what felt like forever, I ran out of steam. I collapsed onto the floor, now covered with a vile mix of booze, puke, and blood—I cut my hand on one of the bottles, and only just noticed it. Hideo sat there, not with a look of comfort or sympathy, no. That wouldn't do for a cult of personality like him. He was a statue and might have remained one for all the good it did. He stood up and walked toward a small closet. He opened the door, and pulled out a mop and a bucket, a broom and a dustpan. He dropped them at my feet, looked down on me, and said, "You will have this cleaned up within one hour." He left the room. And I obeyed...I fucking obeyed.
***
I didn't want to breathe anymore. I told India this—and all that it implied—during our most recent training session on the roof. The weather had grown hotter, so the humidity did little to convince me that breathing was something that was even worth the effort anymore. India sat down beside me and held me, for the first time ever. I cried.
"This is my fault," she said.
"No...no, it's those assholes, Toby and Hideo's fault."
"No. It is my fault. I will explain." She sighed just enough to insinuate that she was working up the nerve to tell me something. "Surely Hideo told you about what my job was before becoming your mentor, yes? I know him too well to think otherwise. He must have told you that I disobeyed his order to recruit a promising young candidate." A pregnant pause. "It was you."
"...You didn't tell me?"
"No...and looking back, I feel badly that I didn't. We never recruited so young before Monroe came along. Hideo was different then. He believed that the only effective way to make a change was if you believed in something. He believed that he could make a difference by only bringing into his group people who already figured out that the world we live in is a lie. But that lie is a very seductive one. And Hideo found himself losing more people than he gained. Most were taken in death. We lost many resistance cells in the early days. Hideo wanted to fight; I convinced him to try a more peaceful option. I suggested that instead of attacking the enemy, that we lie dormant, like a seed in the soil, waiting for the right time to flourish and bloom. This appealed to his philosophical side, and the 'Freemen' were born.
"But Hideo always held to the idea that decisive, tactical action was also needed to make changes in the world. So instead of cultivating soldiers for his revolution, he turned to an ancient Japanese legend for inspiration, about assassins who would go unseen and could perform the will of their lord and master without fail. To that end, he tasked me with finding young candidates whose personalities suggested rebelliousness and intelligence and were physically fit and came from poor families. But I would not simply pick anyone who fit that criteria. I only chose those who I felt would not leave behind more sorrow for their loss. Orphans...like me. But Hideo needed more, because orphans are hard to come by in our world.
"Many years ago, Hideo met Toby Monroe. Hideo never liked him, but Toby had experience with identifying characteristics in young people, having worked for a university selecting applicants. So Hideo saw value in him regardless. Eventually, Toby started looking at any candidate that would meet Hideo's criteria, regardless as to whether they had families to mourn them or not." India looked into my eyes. "When he asked me to recruit you, I disobeyed. Instead, I told him that what he was doing was wrong, and that if I could not tell him so, then we had no business trying to break the system...we might as well have been the system ourselves. Hideo made me a deal. He would not cut me loose for disobedience, but would make me your mentor when the time came that you were recruited. I would be solely responsible for your safety and training, ensuring that you were ready to perform the role set down for you. I had no choice. I had to agree. Somewhere inside, I still held onto the hope that Hideo was still the noble soul he always aimed to be. Toby was my replacement, and virtually every single assassin working for Hideo now came from his selection process. And since then, the jobs have been commissions from other corporations, other businesses. I know that Toby Monroe has picked candidates who are not rebellious and may not even be that intelligent. But they take to discipline and obey unerringly with the proper tutelage. But I ask you, Gena, how is that any different from the world that they have been taken from? Now they simply fulfill a purpose that only maintains the status quo and does not disrupt it. I worry that our leader has lost his way."
Silence filled the air. I hugged India right back. Time passed, and I started to contemplate all that I had learned about this world of shadows, and the rare points of light offered up to me by those who dwelt within it. In the stillness, India spoke to me some more.
"My parents told me that they named me 'India' after the lost subcontinent, destroyed and turned into a radioactive wasteland in the last world war. They said that their people came from that land, once rich with so much history and culture. Now, a ruin. A billion people and thousands upon thousands of years of civilization—forgotten. They said that my name was meant to represent hope for the future. A hope that despite everything that has happened, no matter how far from home we may travel, that we are all connected and carry our history...our legacy with every action we take. I always wanted to be that hope for them...even when they were taken from me." I looked up into that black sky, and I tried desperately to think about what gave me hope anymore. We sat for some time, again in silence, just waiting...but for what, I wasn't yet sure.
"I have to show you something," India suddenly stated as she rose from the ground on the roof.
"What is it?"
"You will understand when we get there."
India got into disguise and we took three transports all the way out to the outskirts of the corporate city campus. I had never been out this far before, and never to the place she took me. It looked like some kind of abandoned construction site. Of course, it might have only looked abandoned because by the time we got there, it was almost midnight.
She took me to a dark corner of the site and pulled a heavy tarp away from something. Underneath was a strange kind of machine, with a seat in the middle and two wheels, one in the front and one in back. It looked like an incomplete car, but an assortment of sexy, angular curves which reflected the moonlight off of its black exterior gave me an instinctive thrill to look on it.
India straddled the machine and bid me to get on behind her. She instructed me to hold on tight and handed me a helmet which covered my head. Despite the confinement, it was surprisingly comfortable and I had no issues seeing out of the clear visor in the front of it.
When India started the machine, the two wheels moved backward, then forward with a jump. I admit, I almost fell off, but I squeezed ever tighter to her body as we went, faster and faster, into the dark unknown, on those long abandoned highways that stretched out like netting across the country, like the desiccated veins after a vampire's feast.
An hour or so passed before India navigated the machine off of the larger roads. Even in the dark, I was alarmed to see so many trees—and so large, blooming without maintenance machines. The sky above was peppered with stars, a million points of light like someone stabbed a needle through a shroud covering a lamp. She drove us through the trees in such a way that I was sure that we were going to collide with one of these marvelous spectacles of natural splendor at high speed, thus ending my problems forever. But instead, the machine dipped down into a ravine, one with a floor paved in concrete, and we progressed into an underground bunker. Faint yellow lights illuminated the long path beyond, until we reached a steel door. India stepped off of her machine and walked over toward an analog control panel and entered a series of button presses. The door slid open, and what I saw inside reminded me that just when you thought that all of the layers of mystery had been peeled away, there were countless more beneath the surface.
India pulled down on a lever by the entrance—a circuit breaker—and light filled the massive space. The walls of this underground bunker—which went as high as ten meters or more—were lined with shelves of equipment, the likes of which I had never seen before. I walked around in awe. These were artifacts of the past—televisions, appliances, artwork, weaponry, and more. I turned to India and my dazzled expression made her smile.
"How long have you been holding onto this stuff?! I mean, this is huge!"
"From the start. I found this place while travelling, seeking candidates. Regrettably, there were no survivors here. But this was to be my secret base. My 'Batcave'. Oh, I'm sorry. You won't get that reference."
"I love it! It's so cool! But why are you showing me this now?"
"Because..." India hesitated for the first time ever that I could recall. "Because things are going to be changing. I don't know how or when, but I do not think that there are any more guarantees for our future. I think that you should know about this. And I want you to be ready. That you should make use of this...if something happens."
"Like what?" I mean, I didn't think that India actually went on any missions herself anymore, and I had become very confident in my own abilities as an assassin. I had no doubts about the next mission, which was just a week from today, despite recent events.
"I don't know for certain. And I don't want to give you any ideas without proof. Suffice to say, be careful, Gena. You are my hope for the future."
Chapter 8
"What do you mean you're replacing me?" My patience with Hideo was paper thin already, but when he summoned me mere hours before I was to depart for the Ontario prefecture to tell me this, I literally couldn't believe the words I was hearing.
"Your behavior as of late, Azaria," (yeah, last names—he was mad at me), "has been questionable. Your recent tantrum aside, you have been late with the progress reports for your continual training. Are you prepared to explain yourself?"
Yeah...Hideo had me do extra homework, believe it or not. I could blame my actual schoolwork for that. After all, I was already doing my thesis on sympathetic heating and cooling systems for use with combination refrigeration and cooking systems (they were kind of experimental, but I hate to admit it, I thought they were neat...fine, I'm a dork). But the truth was—and I know that Hideo knew this—I didn't want to tell him everything anymore. What India shared with me was between me and her. And Hideo was the kind of control freak who couldn't abide that. Well, fuck you, boss.
"...What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you that giving you a book report on what kind of odorless toxin I've used to disable the security guards before sneaking my way into the Hershey's Independent Learning Center corporate headquarters is kinda bullshit? Or my progress in maintaining retsev in the field while fighting off a dozen guards armed with tasers is redundant because you can just watch the recording for yourself? Or maybe you're so paranoid, that you think that I'm plotting against you or something, and clever you discovered my missteps. Bravo, boss!" Telling off Hideo felt good; what he did next didn't.
Hideo moved like a blur. He was on me in a heartbeat. His right hand was around my throat, and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. If he wanted to kill me, I could do absolutely nothing to stop it. But just before I blacked out, he dropped me.
"That is why I'm replacing you. Any degree of sloppiness portends failure. I'm going to restructure your training. And I'm reassigning India. You will have a new mentor, one whom I expect will provide a more firm hand at ensuring that you are disciplined! Come, Goram!" As I tried to let air flow into my windpipe again, the door from the bar opened, and in walked that "Adonis" Nancy told me about.
His head was clean-shaven, and he was dressed in loose-fitting camouflage fatigues that concealed the muscular body Nancy spoke of. Despite being indoors, he wore large, round sunglasses that concealed his eyes. His face had absolutely no expression on it whatsoever, like he was some kind of machine. If Hideo's plan was to terminate any sense of joy I might have ever had in this business, this was how he was going to do it. And apparently Hideo must have described me to Goram as some kind of "problem case" because he looked like he was taking this responsibility of reforming me as a personal affront.
"Get up," Goram barked. I did as I was told. I was actually a bit afraid of these two burly killers bearing down on me. "You and I will spend the rest of the day training. I understand you have been skilled in Krav Maga. That's good. Tonight, I'll show you the bagh nakh, along with some obviously needed strength training. I'll make a killer out of you yet." It's as though he had no idea that I'd been doing this for over a year...or that he didn't care. Was I really this hated?
***
My body ached all over. I hadn't been this sore since I first trained with India. And fucking Goram cut me! He said that knowing what it felt like to be injured by the bagh nakh—these kind of like brass knuckles with claws on them—would make me "appreciate the seriousness of our work" more. Fucking sadist. How did Nancy ever put up with this asshole?
Speaking of, a knock came on the door of my dormitory cell after training, and in walked Nancy. It was just as well since I was all but too tired to get up to greet her properly. Thankfully, I gave pre-authorization to my R.A. to let her in. She was dressed in a lovely semi-glossy blazer with these neon tassels, and a frilly olive and teal skirt...she was becoming far too fashionable to be seen in my company.
"Hello, darling...Oh, my God! What happened to you?!"
"Goram happened."
"Wait, what?!" Nancy had this confused look on her face, telling me that Hideo hadn't yet broken the news to her, which actually came as a bit of a surprise.
"Goram is my new mentor. Didn't you hear? ...Didn't he tell you?"
"Honey," Nancy began, sitting down beside my bruised body, "I haven't had a mentor for a year now. I thought that it was the same for you. Goram said that the mentorship process usually only lasted about a year. And that he had been assigned to a new candidate and told me to 'stay strong' and keep up with my training." And then it hit me: India probably defied Hideo here as well. If she was only supposed to stick around for a year, why was she still training me afterwards? "Didn't your mentor train you, Gena?"
"Of course, she trained me! I guess...Hideo figured I needed more." I lied. It hurt a bit to shrug, but I made the effort to sell it. I was feeling ashamed, like Nancy would judge me for falling behind or something. That was stupid. And I think she saw right through it.
"...You lipped off to Hideo again, didn't you?" I paused at the way she said this.
"What do you mean, 'again'? What have you been hearing about me?" I was on edge, even if I could only barely sit up in bed. And Nancy's wincing expression spoke volumes. "Nancy! What are you not telling me?"
"Look...Uncle Toby told me that he heard from Hideo that you were falling behind, and that I shouldn't expect that you were going to make it all the way to graduation."
"He was talking about me behind my back?! And you didn't think to mention this to me?"
"What was I supposed to do, Gena?! He told me to keep it a secret because he hoped that you would come around. I told him that you were worried about your brother back home, and he..."
"What?! You fucking told Toby about Aiden?! Oh, please, please, please, Nancy, please no! Fuck!"
"What the hell is your problem?!" She got up off the bed. Her body language wasn't just defensive—I think she thought that I might actually try to attack her, because she took a fighting stance. "You were so depressed, and Toby is family! I was feeling bad for you, and Toby could see that something was bothering me."
"You...pitied me?" There it was. I didn't want to see it, but there it was. I loved Nancy. She was my best friend. But I always had this fear that she looked down on me...because I wasn't as smart as her or as pretty as her. And maybe she wanted to prove now that she was the better assassin, too.
"Don't make it sound like I was trying to screw you, okay? We're both in this together, but we have to think about our futures! You've been so lost ever since you came to GE University, flittering away this golden opportunity. Where would you have been if I hadn't stepped in to save you, huh?! Or Uncle Toby? It wasn't luck that we were both got those scholarships. I mean, you figured that out, right? Toby hacked their database and picked who would get them from the start. That's how he was able to get us in here in the first place! If it hadn't been for him, I'd be stuck in Montana, milking cows and feeding grain to chickens at dawn. I mean, I love my daddy, but I missed this life, too! Uncle Toby reminded me of all of the wonderful things here that we just didn't have out in the wild. How could I not be grateful?"
"Listen to yourself, Nancy! You just admitted that he used you and me! Do you think that family does that?"
"Yes, I do! Family does it all the time! I was awestruck as a little girl to go to Montana and see the land for what it really was. But I was never given a choice. Toby gave me that. He said that I had so much potential, and that I could do more good from inside the system to change things than from outside. And that he could offer your brother the same choice. You really ought to be thanking him for saving Aiden from certain doom after I asked him to bring him in." This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. Nancy...Nancy did this?! I was shaking. I didn't even realize what I did next until it happened.
I launched myself from my bed at Nancy. This was stupid, since the comparatively soft bed didn't give me much resistance, and Nancy was ready. She swatted me away with ease, and I tumbled onto my desk. Combined with my soreness and anger, my attempts to sweep her leg from the prone position was as feeble as if a baby were trying to trip you. Nancy hopped over it and stomped on me with her heel. But just once, though. She loved me, after all...
"Are you done, Gena?! Can we stop acting like children, please?!"
"You bitch," I rasped between fits of coughing, "You should have known he was off-limits."
"Bitch?!" Nancy put her hand against her chest, and I wasn't entirely sure if she was making fun of me or if she was genuinely offended. "Wow. Okay, I'm through looking out for you. I have a job tomorrow in the Ontario prefecture, so I don't have time to listen to your little tantrum. Good luck to you in your future, Gena. You're going to need it if you keep alienating everyone the way you do!" Nancy stormed out of my room, leaving me curled up on the floor, a useless pile of pain and tears.
Chapter 9
It's the things that you don't say...that you don't do that haunts you the most.
Would life have been any better if I, y'know, applied myself? Would Aiden have been so resentful and blamed me if I actually got here on my own merits, instead of being hand-picked for a clandestine, illegal organization? Would I have had any say in my life if I lived it any differently?
Regret is bullshit, though. It's the one thing that you can truly never do a damn thing about. But it's always there.
Even though Nancy had betrayed me, even if she didn't mean to do it or didn’t mean to hurt me, I felt horrible about how things ended between us. I thought that the worst thing that could happen was that she would leave me in the dust, and that the friend I bonded with in these decisive years of my young adult life would forget about me. I was wrong. That wasn't the worst thing.
***
A week passed. I fought the urge to go see how Nancy was doing. To call her or send her a virtual message...anything. It wasn't pride, no...not really. I just felt like I had been kicked around so much lately—literally in the case of my new "mentor", Goram...he actually did kick me—that I was afraid of getting more of the same from her. Would she think that if I showed up at her dormitory that I was actually going to try to kill her? Would I even have pre-authorization to get in? Would I have to wait outside of the dorm and chuck a log into the frame to sneak in like I did over a year ago with Sanjay?
So I waited. And waited. Until the unthinkable happened.
I received a voicemail from Aiden.
In truth, I didn't know it was from him at first; the identifier was "unknown", but when I started to listen to it, there was no mistaking that it was my little brother. The same lost soul who I hadn't spoken to in as long as I had been attending this school. Mom and Dad were still grieving his disappearance; they also had to move to an even smaller apartment as a punitive measure due to Aiden failing to check in with his probation counselor after the fight last year. And now, after all of this time, he reached out to me. I'd like to say that it came from some sense of forgiveness or even a desire to forge a professional partnership. But that couldn't be farther from the truth. Listen:
"Dear...dear Gena. College life treating you well? Making new friends? I've been making new friends. I've learned a lot about you since you left us behind...left me behind. How's your application coming along? I know you struggled in high school so much. It must come as quite a shock to be working without a safety net at the university. You must be a bundle of stress...ready to snap. Oh, but you've got some nice women who have been holding your hand throughout all of this. They must be good people, your mentor, India, and your dear, dear friend...Nancy, was it? Yes, it was Nancy. I've got friends, too. I think you know them. One of them told me that Nancy had to do your job for you. That she went to Ontario prefecture because you weren't up to it. Just think about how different things would be...but I'm getting ahead of myself. I want to show you something I think that you should see. Let's just say that a...friend shared this with me, and I want you to understand just what your selfishness...your irresponsibility has produced. You need to own your failings, dear, dear sister. And I'm going to make sure of it. Enjoy the show."
There was an attached video file; it was titled "MISSION 083-A2". My fingers went numb. I knew what that file name meant. India and Hideo had reviewed my performance videos captured via my mandatory eyewear, and I had seen the names of these files before. They were also logged into my mission dossiers when Hideo presented them to me. The "A2" was different, but I had to presume that it was meant to differentiate between the mission I was supposed to perform and the one that Nancy must have completed. Why did Aiden want me to see this? And how did he even get these files. They were supposed to be accessible only to Hideo, who only shared the files with mentors for a one-time playback, deleted automatically afterward for security. What was Aiden playing at?
With trepidation, I pressed "begin" on the AR display, which projected outward into a virtual reality space in my humble dormitory cell. I saw the world through Nancy's eyes, I saw her mission from start to finish. And at the end of it, the ground shifted beneath me...and my world came crashing down...fiery wreckage...ashes in my blood.
***
"Operative Nancy, reporting in. Case log: 083-A2. Location: Huawei-Google Syndicate Megalopolis 12, Section Z14-B, in the Toronto prefecture. Preparing for dive by way of semi-autonomous flight suit into position. Refactoring for wind conditions. Whew, we're really high up! Mission is to eliminate the VPs of 'propaganda for use in corporate merger strategems’, the deadly duo known as ''The Shang Brothers'. Got them double teaming me now, boss?" Nancy giggled. "Order of preferred means of assassination. One: neurotoxin. Equipped with blowdarts and blowgun, and two self-dissolving gas grenades. Two: tactical kris. Silent, but will require isolating to employ, and that may be more trouble than it's worth. I didn't have any time to research these boys, so seduction's off the table. Sorry, getting off topic. I know you hate that. Third: TK-K12 mini Uzi equipped with silencer and micro-explosive rounds. Last resort but should leave an impression...on the walls!" More laughter. "Okay, okay...get in the zone, Nancy." Three deep breaths...inhaling, exhaling. "Begin mission! Geronimooooo!"
Nancy leapt from the mile-high communications toward dominating the Toronto skyline, the fabric of her automated flight suit spreading out behind her, guiding her descent. The ground below here was a vast and endless sea of cityscape, stretching out as far and wide as her eyes could see. I heard that Toronto used to be a city built by a large lake, but there was no longer any evidence of this. But the so-called "Great Lakes" had been depleted ages ago.
Her eyes were fixed on another massive building several hundred meters out. It was clear from her point of view and trajectory that she intended to land on the rooftop of the structure, which was going to require split-second timing. The wind raced past her ears, which even though they were protected during the flight by mufflers, was still loud enough to produce a deafening roar.
The rooftop approached, and Nancy folded her arms closer inward to control her descent, successfully ducking and rolling onto the smooth surface. She pressed a button under her elbow, and the sagging fabric retracted into the folds of the suit, instead becoming a form fitting black body suit, which hugged her body in all of the right places. Nancy had gained some weight, but I thought in only made her look more healthy, more attractive. She looked down at her person, checking to see that all of her equipment was there. The Uzi was yet to be assembled, but I was familiar with the weapon. If she was half as familiar with it as I was, she'd have it together in one-point-eight seconds, more than enough time if the shit hit the fan.
Since Nancy was hot on the site, I didn't expect her to talk much more until she completed and exited the stage. She was in character: a nubile killer in a latex cat suit. I bet she had a mask on like in those superhero vids we used to watch together. Her hair was, of course, flowing freely. She was always proud of her luxurious hair.
Nancy moved with speed through the blind spots of the air cars, and toward the entrance port. She affixed a small, mechanical device to the unit. Three seconds later, the entrance yielded without so much as a whisper of an alarm. I watched Nancy slowly descend a narrow, entirely vertical service elevator shaft using the electromagnetic array equipped in her gloves, clinging to the walls with her left hand, while prepping her blowgun with the right, before holstering it yet again. She counted in whispers, measuring how many meters she was descending before she had to stop and enter the building. She stopped and fell silent. She pressed a few buttons concealed within the sleeve of her left arm, and her right hand started to produce a subtle acid, dissolving the mechanism sealing the panels between the ductwork. She ripped the panel off and dropped it into the nigh-infinite void below, no sound indicating if and when it ever hit bottom. Then, she crawled horizontally through the ducts. She was muttering something: "Come out to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs." I didn't get it.
After nearly ten minutes, Nancy emerged into a narrow service catwalk perched high above an expansive room dominated in the center by a massive, pyramid-like structure, itself comprised of a multitude of offices designed to appear as though they were open-air rooms. The windows surrounding the entire gigantic hall looked out onto the Toronto skyline, but there were also subtle illusions projected over it to suggest that the skyline itself was also comprised of shrines and monuments from ancient Eastern civilizations. Placid music was performed by musicians playing instruments like the guzheng as they were suspended on platforms that hovered closely toward the peak of the pyramid, entertaining their masters.
Nancy wasted no time in admiring the scenery any more than she had to from a tactical standpoint. She scurried along the catwalk, keeping low to the ground. Not that anyone could see her, but a lower profile was always advantageous, and it was good practice. She tapped the sides of her eyewear, which I realized had to have been goggles instead of the traditional glasses, since the whole point for Nancy was less about blending in than going unseen. The optical interface zoomed in on the highest floor of the pyramid, and her heads-up display (or "HUD", for short) counted thirteen warm bodies within. She spent the next fifteen minutes establishing and marking movement trends and searching for entranceways via the three-dimensional blueprints she had overlayed via AR over her HUD.
I admit, I was impressed. Nancy had gotten very good at her job. In just a day, she already had a loadout for the mission prepped on the off chance that something like this might come up. Smart girl.
After Nancy identified a potential breach point between the surveillance equipment scanning the area and the people on the top floor, she withdrew a zipline gun, simultaneously firing mortar-piercing darts behind her and outward toward the ornamental (but hopefully sturdy) tip of the pyramid. Zipline guns were great, and they came up a lot more often than you might expect. They just had one drawback. To get the force required to propel the anchor into the wall, they couldn't have too much mass, so the zipline itself was just a thin wire. To overcome the obvious snapping problem, they were charged with electromagnetic pulses, so it was really the electricity you were riding, not an actual zipline. We used to jokingly call it "riding the lightning", but we were more right than we knew. The only problem with this was that you couldn't rely on EMP technology while using it...unless you wanted it to snap and have it drop you. It also took some getting used to using, because they were fast, almost as fast as a bolt of lightning.
Nancy grabbed on and activated the zipline, and in less than a second, she had crossed the gap. She recoiled the line, stowed it, and retrieved a focused laser cutter from her harness, and began penetrating through the ornamental shingles on the rooftop. This was a little risky, because if the tiles—which at least looked ceramic—were, in fact, ceramic, this would be slow going and cost her valuable time. But Nancy must have done her homework because they sliced through the synthetic plastic like a hot knife through margarine, and she descended inside in seconds flat. Leave it to corporate contractors to install substandard material in places where they think that no one will bother checking.
Nancy was in a (comparatively) small office, which no one was using. As she stowed the cutter, she pulled out a small, crystalline orb that I had never actually seen before, but heard about. It wasn't common to field test experimental equipment, but I knew why she was going for it. The orb was capable of emitting small pulses of subsonic waves which supposedly, when used in short bursts, could fool surveillance cameras and drones into "thinking" that no one was there...rendering you effectively invisible. But the problem with subsonic frequencies is that they didn't get along with biological equipment, and in some kind of gross ways. Even though the mechanism had a slight radius—so it wasn't likely to bother anybody else unless you were right on top of them—it tended to give the user a really bad case of indigestion, as it fluctuated the contents within the digestive system. I don't need to tell you why this is really bad on a mission like this. So one to two second bursts were about the most you could count on without needing diapers or a barf bag, thus earning it the nickname, the "Urp Orb".
Her HUD continued to anticipate the occupants of the highest floor, and paired this with biometric readouts for accuracy. Evidently, Nancy was counting on the Shang brothers both being on this floor. I wondered if she was going to use a remote "mouse" drone to identify the floor’s occupants. But these were a risky gamble, since really vermin didn't exist in places like these, and it would probably set off the security sensors themselves in such a densely monitored location. And considering the open-air nature of the offices in the pyramid, she could probably rule out any kind of remote delivery of a neurotoxin canister. But given that these open-air offices were cradled within a glass-enclosed skyscraper—combined with her wingsuit and the Uzi equipped with explosive bullets—I had a theory about her exit strategy.
I watched Nancy fixate her gaze on the two largest heat signatures on the floor, and then start crawling toward the doorway, which was conveniently ajar. Nancy knew that a security camera was pointed directly at that entranceway, however, and she wasn't prepared to give away her position just yet by directly targeting it. And lobbing a "JAFF grenade" into the hall would have just enough of a delay to trigger the security system. So it was time to get tricky. Nancy activated the orb and rolled with amazing alacrity around the corner, deactivating it in less than a second. She grabbed her stomach, and I heard her let out a faint belch.
She was just outside of the threshold for the office that the Shang brothers likely occupied. Problem was, they were seated opposite one another, and both had a clear vantage point of the open entrance to their office. So the moment that Nancy crossed that threshold, they would see her, no question. And the neurotoxin had long enough of a delay to make it inefficient, so the blowgun was out, too. Well, nothing's perfect, and stealth sometimes can only take you so far. She took the opportunity to assemble her Uzi and readied her kris, gripping the blade between two fingers on her left hand. Then Nancy took a deep breath and made her move.
Nancy was a killing angel. She had a style and agility most people could only dream of. She actually cartwheeled hands-free into the room (show off), succeeding in disorienting both of the portly businessmen seated on opposite sides of a curved desk. (It looked like someone should be sitting at the head of it, but no one did.) The kris flew from her fingertips so fast that I didn't even see it land deep in the brother on the left's throat. I definitely saw Nancy take aim with her Uzi and unload a volley of rounds into the one on the right. He popped like a ripe piece of popcorn, and I started to lose my appetite.
I once asked Nancy why she favored something so inaccurate as an Uzi for precision missions like these. She said that because we always hunted fat people, accuracy kind of didn't matter so much. I guess it was a difference of opinion, but she wasn't wrong here. Only thing, I wasn't cool with having to clean off bits of VP from my outfits after each gig.
The alarms were already going off. Klaxons. Strobes. The usual. Nancy grabbed for her kris, twisted (nasty, Nancy), and pulled out, resulting in a massive sanguine geyser spraying all the way to the ceiling. Can't say that the girl had any problem getting her hands dirty anymore.
Confirming my suspicion, she once again pulled out the zipline gun, and fired a wire to connect with a supporting beam covered in replica stone. She wasn't aiming for the beam itself; she was looking at the big, giant window opposite. She trained her Uzi on it, gripped the zipline, and took off. She fired her gun moments before doing so, anticipating that the shattered glass would provide an ample portal for her to fling herself from, open her wingsuit, and soar into the night and to freedom. Only, that's not exactly what happened.
The glass shattered, but Nancy's line snapped as the electricity all around her went out for just long enough to disrupt her zipline. She dropped the Uzi in the heat of the moment, and she plummeted along with it toward the rock garden below. The sand broke her fall...along with her left arm from the impact. She shrieked in pain. Suddenly, a squad of at least a dozen armed (yes, armed) soldiers were on her in a heartbeat. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. They weren't armed with the kind of typical electronic equipment we always saw on security guards; they had actual fucking machine guns, equipped with tactical scopes. I think they were replicas of the M4A1 rifle, but given how much Nancy was moving around, I didn't get a good enough look.
They fired. All at once. Nancy dove with exceptional speed to cover, but not before taking two bullets; one in her shoulder, and one in her thigh. She was breathing so erratically, that I actually tried slowing my breathing, as though I thought that it could help her. My heart was in my stomach as I watched her struggle to maneuver away from the firefight. The pyramid loomed over her, and the sounds of the soldiers boots on the wooden bridges separating the rock garden from the various ponds grew louder. Nancy lobbed a neurotoxin canister blindly toward the sound to no avail. They had gas masks on, too, which was completely implausible...unless they knew what she was bringing. Oh no...
Nancy turned her gaze toward the shattered glass window, the intense winds blowing into the skyscraper—an adverse effect of being up so high—and she made one last desperate run toward it, despite the pain, despite the danger all around her. As she raced, I saw her spit up blood. Oh Nancy...please make it. Please.
A single shot rang out. Not from the soldiers below...but from a sniper positioned up on the very same catwalk Nancy entered from previously. The sniper was ready...waiting. I didn't notice...Nancy didn't notice the sniper before, as he was behind the tip of the pyramid, and only was visible now from the particular angle from which he shot her...right through the heart. I felt like my heart stopped. It might as well have. But nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
Nancy was surely dead, but the goggles continued to transmit. Smoke. Fire all around Nancy's broken body, her wingsuit melting into her flesh, immolated in seconds. Her lovely hair vanishing in a flash. And then the feed cut out. Nancy was cremated on site, but not by any of the soldiers, not by some kind of warped security system. It was something else. Probably some kind of failsafe mechanism to prevent identification...to prevent anyone from tracing her back to...Hideo.
Chapter 10
India and I raced through the night on her electric motorcycle to her bunker to get equipped for the coming storm. Everything ran cold in me now, and I supposed that it must have been the same for her...and it wasn't just the night air. We passed through the long corridor stretching and descending almost a full kilometer toward the entrance to her bunker, and after temporarily disabling the security to get inside, we both moved into India's "war room" to arm up and plan our attack on the bar.
"We take Hideo alive, Gena," India reminded me. I didn't argue. I was starting to see some of the pieces fit together but saw just as many that didn't...maybe more. Like why did Hideo want Nancy dead? Or was it even Hideo at all who set the trap? It couldn't have been the Shang brothers, obviously. But then why wait until after they were dead? I shared all of this with India, but we kept coming back to the same answer. Hideo. He may not have known what was going to happen, but he knew enough about all of the pieces of the puzzle. We had to start there. Only...we also knew that he didn't like to "explain" himself. That was too bad, boss man. You were going to explain, one way or the other.
India handed me a tactical outfit to match hers. Low-profile body armor. Cutting edge stuff, all things considered. Was practically bullet proof ultra-kevlar, but the impact would still bruise like a fucker. But I'd take a hundred bruises over a punctured lung. It even resisted bladed weapons a bit, though not enough to render them impotent in the hands of a skilled assassin. Of course, that left the head. India had that covered, too...literally. The same motorcycle helmet she gave me just so happened to be made out of a carbon-ceramic mesh that protected from bullets and (most) hostile laser fire. We were pretty sure that Hideo wouldn't rely on lasers, though. He knew that the equipment that was required to generate it was prone to being disabled with an EMP pulse...so we were bringing those, too.
Despite the cold rage driving me onward, despite my anger at everything, I didn't say much...I didn't say anything as I got outfitted with the biggest, baddest loadout I'd ever had. I told India everything after she arrived by rooftop at my dorm and shook me out of my state of shock. She listened to everything I shared, and I knew that she believed me, and that she was ready to strike. And strike hard.
But they struck first.
The explosion from the missile shook the whole bunker, which I couldn't believe was possible. We heard the gates blow off and the sirens and lights activate in response. I heard some titanic machine slamming into the dozen security gates dropped automatically to repel such an attack; they crumpled like foil against whatever had enough force to plow right through them. Death was coming like a meteor, a juggernaut of unstoppable force, right to us.
India signaled for us to split up, but to keep in sight when able. I trusted that she knew this environment better than anyone, so I had to oblige her. The sprinkler system triggered and fought against the flickering flames we saw coming from the main hall of the bunker.
"You think that you were the only one with a secret base, India?!" Goram. His voice was emanating from a speaker affixed somewhere to the massive, armored vehicle that plowed its way--all the way—into the bunker. It was equipped with a massive titanium plow that resembled something a little more than phallic. Not to mention the missile launchers on each shoulder that fired the salvo. If Goram wanted to kill us all--including himself—all he had to do was press a button. There was only one problem: one of the wheels had dislodged in the impact, so this big piece of overcompensation was staying right where it was.
"Come out now, ladies! Let us not waste anymore of Hideo's time, shall we?" He was mocking us, but he was also giving away his position inside the APC. That was an advantage I hoped to exploit. I couldn't guess how much he was able to get a read on from within the machine, but I stuck to sneaking behind the assorted debris and shelves of antiquities when at all possible. Hideo. He was saying that Hideo sent him. I rounded the corner just next to the vehicle and prepared to clamor into the entrance port on top of it when I felt the impact of Goram's FN P90 bullpup submachine let loose a burst against my sides. I heard at least one rib crack. But thanks to the combination of the kevlar body armor and bulletproof helmet, in addition to my quick reflexes—conditioned after intensive training and mission after mission—that was the worst of it. Through the audio sensors in the helmet, I could hear laughter between the trained bursts of fire from Goram's submachine gun.
"Hahaha! Fooled you!" He held up a small device in his free hand—another reason to be thankful for his inaccuracy, but it was terrifying to think that he was this precise at all firing one-handed. The bastard smirked, and I saw flames reflected in his mirror-like sunglasses. He lifted the device to his lips and continued to mock us. "Testing, testing! I'm in the car! Oh no, they've found me! Hahaha!" His voice emanated from the speakers on the APC. He tossed the remote away, gripped the weapon and started to stalk through the debris for me. I resisted the urge to fire on Goram right away. Not out of some sense of kinship or fidelity. I just didn’t want him to pin me down in the environment before I acquired a better tactical advantage. I skulked between overturned shelves, shattered television sets, food stuffs, and so on, doing what I could to avoid making any noise, as Goram strode through the carnage, occasionally kicking over a miraculously still standing shelf amid the wreckage.
In the midst of our game of "cat and mouse" (Nancy used to call it that), I unholstered the SIG Sauer M17 India gave me while we were getting equipped. She told me that this was the kind of handgun she preferred for its accuracy and versatility. It took me a moment to get used to it being a kind of muddy brown color. Most guns I used were black or had a metal finish. She said that handguns, like people, may be of all different shapes and colors, but some are better matches for people regardless. She took the opportunity to give me a "what's on the inside that counts" lesson, but from India, it didn't feel like patronizing; it felt like wisdom.
Goram was smart, but arrogant, and that meant that he was unpredictable. In the brief moment that I saw him, I noticed that he wasn't wearing body armor. On the contrary, he was wearing a faded grey camouflage, accented with arm and leg guards outfitted with blades. He was also now wearing a full-face mask meant to resemble a skull; it was also equipped with a rebreather, so he must've figured that we might try some gas-based defenses. In the brief period I trained with Goram, I learned that he had a sadistic side. He enjoyed making you feel like you had the upper hand, and lured you into exposing yourself, giving him the opportunity to capitalize on it. I knew that beneath his mask that he was still smirking that ubiquitous smirk. I wondered if he was still wearing his shades, too, the nutjob.
I couldn't just count on sneaking up on him and him not having some kind of plan to punish me for it. Bu I also couldn't maintain line of sight on him the whole time that I was evading him. Therefore, I had no idea if he took the opportunity to lay down some kind of trap—like a pressure-sensitive anti-personnel mine—in his wake while I wasn't aware. He didn't seem to care that he was calling attention to himself. He was firing sporadic bursts into the wreckage, but clearly wasn't hitting us...or was trying to make it look like he didn't know where we were. I never underestimated the skill of the mentors. After all, Goram supposedly passed along to Nancy everything that she could do, and I had seen that firsthand hours ago. No, Goram was putting on a show...but I couldn't figure out why just yet and I knew better than to jump into his clutches without a plan. I could tell that India must have been thinking the same thing, because despite all of this, she was nowhere to be seen. And as Goram continued his search, amidst the flames and smell of gunpowder was...something that smelled a bit like garlic?
"Do you know what 'God' is, children?" Goram's voice reverberated throughout the massive bunker, booming with the authority of a corporate politician—a demagogue with a machine gun. "God is what holds us back from being what we truly are. That is why God was banned so long ago." Goram's boots crunched glass beneath his heel. "But what was lost was the truth about us...about you and me, Gena. And what are we? Monsters. Devils. Dragons."
I finally caught sight of India. She had crept her way around Goram and was positioning herself atop a large wall with climbing rungs embedded in it, which she had told me she used for strength training. She had an SRS-A2 Covert sniper rifle slung across her back, and she was in the process of silently readying it to use on our would-be killer.
"Hideo understood this when he invited me to teach you. We both came from the dark lands, ruined by war and destruction. War humanity conjured forth from the depths of Hell. He sent me a message with my mission: destroy the traitors. He shared with me where to find you. He shared that the mission that slew my pupil, Nancy, was meant for you, Gena." Goram howled and kicked over yet another shelving unit. He was doing so with some regularity. "Hideo found me in a land that used to be called Russia a long time ago. That land had a history. We were a people who were kings of the Earth. Now, refugees all. But history has a way of surviving...with enough determination." India was training her sights on Goram, and I was moving into a flanking position. Distracting him would be easy.
"I read something once by a countryman, written centuries ago...went by the name of Helena Blavatsky." Something was obscuring my line of sight on Goram...like smoke? He pulled out a small metal box about an inch or two in size from his vest pocket, and flicked open the lid. He continued: "She wrote something I want to share with you: 'And now it stands proven that Satan, or the Red Fiery Dragon, the Lord of Phosphorous, and Lucifer, or Light-Bearer, is in us; it is our Mind.' Amen." Goram sparked a flame from the tiny box with a flick of his thumb and chucked the lighter into the growing white mist.
Here there be dragons. The mist ignited with a blast that threw me at least five meters across the room. I was on fire and had no alternative but to shed my combat armor as fast as possible. There would be scarring, but it could have been worse. I discovered that Goram had been dropping small, time activated canisters of white phosphorous in the midst of his ruckus but had maneuvered out of the blast zone before he activated the incendiaries. He was setting a trap, and I fell for it.
India took the shot, and despite her exceptional aim, Goram had already moved out of sight in the chaos, and all she had succeeded in doing was revealing her position; I knew she would be on the move. And I was in really bad danger, because I realized that Goram would try to pick me off first, now that I was unarmored, which in turn would even his odds and piss off India.
Breathe...breathe...but my breathing was becoming difficult as well. The intense flames were incinerating vast sections of the bunker, and smoke was abundant. I couldn't even use the smoke to my advantage. Goram planned for this as well, but my helmet didn't have a rebreather. I removed the helmet as well, since I needed as much peripheral vision as I could get. I was quite naked, and I was scared. Instead of letting the fear dictate my actions, however, I felt something primal within me start to swell...to awaken.
I crouched low with my pistol and dashed between the debris. I howled. I howled again. And I heard laughter...my stalker's enthusiastic, bellowing laughter. Good. I was playing off of Goram's macabre dramatic sensibilities better than I expected. I also knew that, superficially, I was making it seem as though I were giving away my position in the mayhem; I was...just not in the way that I hoped that he would expect.
India had explained to me that the bunker was originally designed to house a small community of what used to be called "preppers"...people who prepared for some calamitous event. If you asked me what I thought about something like that a couple of years ago, I would have called them "crazy"...now, I felt the exact opposite. This prepping was my last chance to stay alive. She told me that the bunker was intended to be completely self-sufficient. Everything that they could need was on hand, and the ingredients to make all of the essentials of everyday life...including soap. My only hope was that in the midst of all of the damage that the ingredients I was looking for were first, intact, and second, labeled correctly. I was in luck.
I made some noise, scurrying around, firing off a round or two...just enough to tempt him to open fire. He did not disappoint. But I didn't want to give my plan away. I maneuvered into an area where the sprinkler system continued to fight the raging flames as ineffectually as ever...but they would still work to my advantage. That's when I chucked the plastic gallon labeled "lye" at Goram. The gunfire I heard was followed with a sizzling sound...and screaming. Burn, baby, burn. Now it was Goram's turn to give away his position to India.
The only flaw in my plan: I didn't have any interest in seeing Goram stripped down to his bare necessities. Oh well. Small price to pay for this asshole getting chemical burns.
I picked my head up to see the musclebound killer firing his gun upward, toward a black shadow descending on him from on high. India. She was armed with a long katana and must have opted for close range combat. This was understandable; she was trying to remove the risk of Goram finding one of us before we could strike at him. Her blade flew with such ferocity that I didn't even see Goram's arm fly off until it plopped down at my feet. The splattered blood merged with my own, and the bits of glass embedded in my shins and knees from crawling around. I saw India drive her blade deep into Goram, piercing out from behind him. Goram had dropped his gun, but he was holding something else tightly in his hand.
I took aim with my SIG Sauer and was mere nanoseconds from blowing Goram's head into pulp. But before I could fire, Goram raised his remaining arm, and I watched him let go of a small grip with a red button on the top, connected by a thin wire that traced its way to his chest. And in a flash of flame and light, both of them were gone. I shielded my eyes. Mercifully, I didn't find enough of either of Goram or India, but I knew what happened. India wasn't engaging in close quarters to even the odds. She must have known that Goram had a kill switch. She always told me to never underestimate a target's will to survive, or even to retaliate. People are capable of anything when their backs are to the wall. And Goram was out of options...meaning so was India.
I dropped the pistol, and sunk to my knees, the shards of glass only digging deeper inward. But I felt no physical pain; the emotional pain was loud enough to drown out anything else. I was alone.
Chapter 11
It was late evening by the time I returned to the outskirts of the GE University corporate city campus on India's motorcycle…which was mine now, I guess. And I had a bone to pick with my boss.
I was bruised, burned, cut, tired, and my ribs still ached, regardless of the tightly wrapped topical pain-relieving binding around my chest. I was hopped up on pain medication and stimulants. I didn't really have a choice.
Despite the destruction, the bunker was stronger than I expected. The flames eventually died out, although there was no way that I could definitively secure the structure before I had to leave. I found my discarded body armor. There were massive holes in it, yes, but miraculously I could still wear it. I found some protective pads to cover my legs and arms—not unlike what Goram wore...actually, one of the ones I reclaimed was Goram's bladed bracer from his dismembered arm. It was a haphazard look that nevertheless prioritized function over fashion. It would do.
I was tired of not getting to say goodbye to the people I loved. I vowed that I would say goodbye to Aiden...even if it meant killing him.
I was afraid to sleep. My nerves were on high alert. Even with the pain and trauma, I was able to maintain my breathing. Collect myself. But the simple truth is that even when the will is strong, the flesh is weak. I couldn't let on. I was going into the lion's den with the biggest bluff I could muster. And this probably wouldn't be enough by itself. Thankfully, I had some toys to sell it. And a plan. Even if it was a crap plan.
***
My patience was gone, and time was of the essence. A fraction of me debated going into that faux pharmacy for the last time armed with diplomacy...an attempt to parlay. That idea flittered away pretty quick, and I certainly burned that bridge the moment I briskly walked in through the door in my hodge-podge body armor and put two holes right through Marvin's head before he could grab the shotgun he kept concealed beneath the counter. I walked my way around said counter, and punched the button granting access to the underground bar/assassin hideout.
I could hear the thumping of intense, pulse-pounding music from beyond that pointless metal detector already...music that I had kind of grown to like, if I were being completely honest...music that would be my greatest advantage in what was about to come next. Frag grenades should do the job...like twelve. Ah fuck it, let's make it a baker's dozen. I had the pins all wired to one cord; one pull, and they bounced down the metal staircase sounding like a double pedal bass drum, which was masked perfectly by the thrash metal coming out of the surround system. Nancy told me about this music before. It was...Motörhead's "Overkill", I think? How appropriate.
Screaming and explosions. Smoke and fire. I strode down the steps with a pair of Micro Uzis—one in each hand—to warm things up. I had plenty of spraying to do, as I waived my arms back and forth while holding down the triggers, letting loose a barrage of suppressing fire. With the twenty round magazines, I only got about a second's worth out of this, but that was long enough for me to unholster my M4A1—modded with a "CQBR" (Close Quarters Battle Receiver)...and an M203 grenade launcher. It was a little unwieldy, but I wasn't planning on keeping it attached long term. Just long enough for the biggest grouping to perk their heads up. I didn't have to wait long.
I gripped the rifle's magazine and pulled the trigger of the launcher at a group of about four disoriented would-be killers. I detached the launcher right as they went flying. I wagered that there was about six or seven still functioning combatants left, so it was time to slip behind cover. Thankfully, one intact pool table was close at hand...but behind that table, in a bloodied olive green and teal suit, ripped and smeared with blood, was a familiar face.
Sanjay and I locked eyes for a second; that was all I could afford. I felt the faintest wistful bit of nostalgia take my thoughts...just before I killed Sanjay for real. Funny, but I thought he would have graduated by now.
I should mention something about the metal detector now. That wasn't to keep weapons from coming in...not really. It was to make sure that the weapons inside the base didn't grow legs and walk off. Hideo was very particular about this. So if you're wondering if I was being shot at right now...yeah. I was being shot at. A lot. And I was never more grateful that most of my comrades didn't keep heavy ordinance on hand at all times. Shotguns, submachine guns, and pistols mostly, and with comparatively low penetrating power typically. I was counting on that...desperately.
I wasn't behind cover for long, mind you. I kept a low profile as I moved up from cover to cover...the shattered bar, busted tables, really anything to disorient my enemy. This was little more than a segue to my next distraction as I crept my way toward the far end of this gauntlet of bullets and bombs.
I found something in India's weapon stash when she first took me to her base of operations. It was a small, remote-controlled drone with lights all over it. When I activated it for the first time in her bunker, I immediately regretted it. I was blinded for a solid minute and disoriented for another thirty at least. It wasn't until after I did this to myself that I noticed the protective plastic film that came in the box that negated the blinding strobe effect. But I saw some useful applications in it for what was to come.
I knew it was a chancey move, but I also knew that the rewards could be huge if it worked. I just hoped that no one would be smart enough to try to shoot it out of the air before I triggered it. Despite everything in recent history, luck was on my side. I piloted the drone into the center of the ruined bar, and the strobe effect pulsed and flashed. The survivors let out a communal groan and yelled, grabbing their eyes, and in some cases, dropping their guns. It was quite the light show...or I bet it was, since I had taped that protective film along the visor of my helmet in advance. It looked pretty cool along with the music, which was somehow against all odds still playing.
When I look back on what followed, it still fills me with nausea. But mercy was not a luxury I could afford. I killed the blinded survivors...each and every one.
...What had I become?
All that waited for me was the back room at the end of this maze of death and destruction. That ominous green door remained closed, still as a corpse. That didn't sit well with me. That meant that Hideo was still in there, just letting me kill all of his men and women like this. What must he have been thinking? Why didn't he have a contingency for this? I should be dead by now.
I rolled a grenade I saved toward the door; it exploded into splinters. Nothing. Was he even here? I put my back against the wall near the breach, my rifle raised, and turned the corner with the barrel pointed forward. Hideo wasn't there. But someone else was...and he was waiting for me with a grin on his face. Someone I hadn't seen in over a year...at least, not in person anyway.
Aiden.
Chapter 12
This was not the same sweet boy I grew up with. This was the face of a hardened killer, ornamented with tattoos, piercings, and a sneer. His hair was a mop of electric blue, shaved off on one side—a slight change from his dossier pictures that Hideo shared with me a year ago. He was wearing a marked-up denim jacket with baggy sleeves, littered with obscure occult symbols, and he had mesh gloves on his hands, cradling a straight razor which he was using to clean off the stubble on his scalp. He did this as he looked at me enter Hideo's office, armed to the teeth. He didn't even blink. He knew I was coming...not that I was subtle about it. But he knew it was me.
He set down the razor on an end table that remained standing despite the blast which left char marks and rubble in its wake. He wiped down his head with a damp towel, turned back to me, and said, "How's school, sis?"
I lowered my rifle. Not that I wasn't suspicious that he was planning something to hurt me, but that I deep down didn't want to hurt my brother. I left the helmet on. Trust wasn't that forthcoming.
"I've almost graduated. My grades are good. Still working on my application. I guess I've been distracted by my part-time job too much." I hoped that the sarcasm would lighten the mood, or maybe it just opened the floodgates of my cold rage a little more.
"Clearly," he retorted. "You've really thrown yourself into your work, sister." I really didn't like the way that he said that. "Stiff competition, I hear." Now Aiden was adding puns to his witty repartee in addition to contempt. "Can't say I blame you for that. There's only room for one Number One, and you don't get there by being soft." What little I had of my already threadbare patience was now gone.
"Aiden, what the actual fuck are you doing here?!” I waived my arms around. “And I mean that in every possible sense of the word?!" He turned to me, smiled with teeth that had been filed into points. Eegh.
"Proving a point. You know that I was always made to feel like I was subservient to you...my whole life. And why? Just because I was younger. Judged to be more inexperienced by virtue of my age alone. What rubbish. I was always better than you...smarter than you, and you know it. Why did you get the scholarship? Age. What did you do with it? Waste it. I was left behind in a world that didn't care...didn't want to care about my needs. Conform or die. Fall in line. Be a brick in the wall or be nothing at all." He held up a small remote which he pulled from one of his jacket pockets. "You can't achieve your true potential if you just let other people set arbitrary rules to keep you down. Tear down the wall. Let me show you." He pressed the button, and a video projection emerged on the opposite wall in Hideo's office.
On the screen was a montage of my missions, all recorded, all identifying me as the assassin. I watched a clip show of my greatest hits—and even my embarrassing missteps—all simultaneously. It was a stunning overload of deja vu. But I couldn't yet understand just what Aiden was getting at with all of this. I asked, and he just smiled that hideous smile all the wider.
"What we do, we do in the shadows, but there is a real need for it. Why? Did you ever ask yourself that? No. You're like everyone else. You just do what you're told." He shook his head, and I was getting pretty fucking tired of his patronizing tone. "Hideo's missions...they don't achieve anything more than appeasing some rich assholes...rearranging the pieces on a board that's never going to change. So much for the revolution." I didn't disagree with him.
"But you don't plan a coup by telling everyone about it. And if I were being honest, I'd have to admit that this wasn't my idea. I think you know the person behind it...Toby Monroe." Oh, now I was pissed off! "I suppose that we kind of found each other. I did some snooping on you early into your academic career. Lots of inconsistencies. Lots of unknowns. And I suppose that must have caught Toby's attention. He reached out to me in my darkest hour...alone, abandoned by the society and family that was supposed to protect me, ready to discard me because I spoke up for myself, even if in anger...and even if I made a mistake about how I expressed it." There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, belying the aggressive posturing.
"He showed me how I could...find myself...just like you did. He said that there was nothing to be ashamed of in being true to yourself, in admitting that everyone else is wrong, and that you are right. Not just going along with what everyone tells you about what you should believe in. But shame is a foreign concept to someone who hasn’t experienced what I have. Let me help you understand." Aiden pointed at me, then waived his hand over toward the screen. My archived missions, in all of their bloody glory and grotesqueness, were replaced with an abundance of media broadcasts on the net and television...everywhere. Oh no, Aiden. What have you done?
He just outed me to the world. Yet I wasn't afraid for myself; no, he…just condemned our parents. They would be identified as "conspirators" to these killings, and their lives would be forfeit in retaliation. Did he even realize this in all of his hatred?
Aiden had done what none of the other assassins before him could. He had ended my career as one and put the eyes of the world on me to bring me to “justice”. There would be a bounty on my head any second now from corporations bent on getting vengeance for the slaughter of their undesirable VPs...even if it was only a superficial gesture to mask their true intentions.
And the moment that I realized this, a metal rod leapt outward from Aiden's baggy sleeves, and extended out to a full-sized bō staff. It glowed with an electrical pulse at the tip, and Aiden thrust it straight toward my heart. He narrowly missed, but the massive electrical charge staggered me. I dropped my rifle and staggered out the door, back into the bar, desperately trying to stay upright. I crashed onto the floor but picked myself up as fast as humanly possible. My life was in jeopardy, and none other than my own flesh and blood was ready to send me packing.
My heartrate was fluctuating rapidly, and it was only thanks to my training with India that I was able to stabilize it. I heard Aiden cursing behind me. Did something in his plan go wrong? I turned back to see that he was now wearing thin spectacles and moving menacingly toward me with the charged staff. I recovered just a split second before he swung his staff at me again, just as I cartwheeled backward out of danger. I could have killed Aiden. I think I could have, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Strangely, it appeared that neither could he. After all, he didn't pick up my rifle, nor did he brandish a firearm himself. Or was he toying with me? Was that really any better? His lunges with the staff seemed to favor the electrical tip, and it clearly packed a nasty punch. I was stuck trying to figure out why he was so fixated on hitting me in the heart with it. And unfortunately the kevlar body armor did little to protect it from a direct impact.
I assumed my fighting stance, raising my arms outward and bending my elbows upward so that my hands were approximately at the same level as my face, while extending my left leg slightly forward, with both knees bent. He swung at me and crashed his staff into an already wrecked bar as I dodged the attack. I caught his next swing between the blades on the bracer which I lifted off of Goram. "So, you've eliminated my instructor already? Score a point for big sis!" Just as I was preparing to deliver an elbow strike, Aiden kicked me in the stomach, freeing his staff and giving me a brief bout of retching in return. No wonder why his fighting seemed so familiar! Goram had trained Aiden?! And I didn't know about it?
I did a kip-up to stand from prone, and feinted running toward him. I slid under him and tried to lock my legs around his to perform a double leg takedown, but he leapt into the air, and thrust his staff down at me, narrowly missing my shoulder blade. I rolled past his strike, and maintained "continuous motion", or retsev, by rolling out of the way of his subsequent lunge then going back on the offensive. I went for a leg sweep afterward, but Aiden was, if nothing else, agile. He leapt out of the way of my strike again, clearly aware of the benefits of using a staff.
I chucked a broken chair at him to try to break down that defense, which only bought me a fraction of a second to close in. In that millisecond, I launched a spinning outside slap kick. It connected, but instead of resisting like I expected Aiden to do, he let the momentum push him further away from me than I would have liked. Damn it. He knew what I was trying to do...at least his smirk (which I was really growing to hate, mind you) said plenty on that. I was beginning to believe that Aiden was deliberately trained to negate my own training...like an anti-Gena or something. He spit out some blood and held his staff out to keep me at a distance...again.
I was at a disadvantage. I didn't bring a weapon that could effectively compete with a bō in close quarters, considering that I didn't want to wound Aiden. Too bad that the feeling wasn't mutual. I was also struggling to get in close enough to really unleash a bevy of blows to disable him. I weighed my options. I could try to take him down, but what would I even do with him if I disabled him? Tie him up? Where would I take him? How would I take him on a motorcycle? No...I had no choice. I decided. I ran. But before I did, I had one little trick up my sleeve, literally. I released a zipper on one of the pockets on the wrist of the armor that I was wearing. A hundred little smoke pellets ejected and went to work immediately. It was enough to aggravate my little brother and allow me to make my escape. But not before I dashed past Sanjay’s corpse. He had one last thing that I needed.
But that left the problem of "what next"? And as if in reply, I received a private, encrypted message: sender unknown. It wasn't the mystery of the sender that intrigued me as much as the contents of the message. It was a set of coordinates and a name. The coordinates led to a remote, off the beaten path location deep in the forests of Montana. The name: Toby Monroe. Either someone was protecting me from afar or this was a trap...and to be honest, I believed in both equally right now.
Chapter 13
Now, you’re probably thinking “Gena, how did you manage to evade capture and death at the hands of all of the various bounty hunters and authorities after you when you got away from Aiden?” Well, about that…I managed to stay literally under the radar of the assorted corporate campuses en route to Montana, largely by keeping outside of their operating radii. You see, one detail I neglected to mention (apologies for that) was that these assorted corporate campuses and mega-businesses had fundamentally become the equivalent of what could best be described as a “city-state”. They adhered to a certain loose confederacy of rules between them but enacted their own laws and protocols. It just so happened that these laws were virtually the same everywhere you went. People’s identity rings (which for the record were also made of an expandable synthetic alloy so that you didn’t have to replace them with weight fluctuations) served as a kind of “passport” between these locations. I suppose I didn’t bring it up because I took it for granted. As I look back on things now, I’m amazed at how much I took for granted.
I’ll never know if my words and my thoughts will ever mean anything to anyone else. Nancy used to tell me that “history” was a collection of events told to people of the present by those who wanted the past to be remembered a certain way. She said that those in power, the winners, got to decide who remembered what…but that wasn’t always the whole story. Often times, the history we were given was the exact opposite of the truth. But before all of this, I was one of those who just believed that things were always just a certain way. I mean, yeah, I was a bit of a rebel, so I never really conformed to it all…but in truth, I kind of did. Nancy thought that there was something “evil” about distorting the past…pretending that something never happened or telling people it happened differently than it really did. She had to explain “evil” to me, by the way.
Oh, right! Evading capture. Sorry. I guess I’m still letting all of this sink in…how different everything has become.
So remember when I said that I “needed something” from Sanjay…or what was left of him, really? Well, his identity ring was going to be my ticket out of this life. Or at least a useful enough short-term form of camouflage until he was reported missing. That gave me about a day or so…long enough to make my way along the abandoned highway system toward Montana. To be honest, I was surprised at how easy it was to make this work. Our society’s framework was predicated on a few things which were surprisingly easy to overcome. The only catch here was that I needed to discard my actual identity ring entirely, or I might as well have not done it at all.
It was a strange feeling. It begins to feel a lot like it’s an actual part of your body. You’re marked by it, and it’s how you know your place in the world. Without it, you don’t belong; worse, you’re treated as actively hostile, or like a criminal, which (strictly speaking) you kind of are. I never used to question it. I never used to think about whether it was right to have your entire public record and worth coded into a little computer chip embedded within a conductive gemstone/polymer compound. But that was the world we lived in…or rather, the world I used to live in.
As I sped away from the GE University corporate campus for the last time, I chucked the damn thing in the gutter. I guess I was just another dropout and I couldn’t have cared less. I had bigger priorities.
The first problem was that I had no idea how or why I was given a name and address. Who sent it? What was their intent? So I had to go into this guarded…suspicious. My impulse was to say that Toby sent it himself and was trying to lure me into some dastardly bit of misfortune. I also wondered if Aiden sent it but considering how furious he was when I left him, I doubted that he had the mental clarity to send anything that would have been neutral in any sense.
That left me wondering about the only player left on the board not accounted for: Hideo. But why would Hideo send me something about Toby. Weren’t they allies? And then I remembered something Aiden let slip: he said “coup”. Why that word? Did he mean that Toby was planning some kind of insurrection? Was there some schism between him and Hideo? And how did I factor into it? But if that was all there was to it, why wasn’t Hideo at his own base of operations when I assaulted it? Something still didn’t sit well about all of this, but the more I considered that Hideo sent me the message, the more I wanted to believe that he wanted me to go after Toby, regardless of who benefited from it. One thing that I was sure of though: Toby would probably not be happy to see me. After all, given the chance, I was going to blow the fucker away.
***
Travelling to Montana was like travelling to another planet. It took me to places that I didn’t think existed in my world anymore. See, the part of the world that I lived in was hyper-industrialized. Very few people even bothered to venture off of the beaten path; that was where “danger” lived…or so we were told. It took me the better part of two days to make my way across the countryside to where the coordinates indicated that I should go. I figured out that this must be the Freemen community, even before I saw some unusual markings en route. Symbols that I had never seen before…a code that clearly was designed to mean something to only those in the know, of which I was not.
It was around this time that another thought came to me. Regardless of who sent me the message, it was very likely that Toby would be where I was going, more or less. That meant that he was ahead of me. And if I was going to the Freemen camp, then it stood to reason that Toby would be among them. And I remembered that he was tight with them…and I was not. Furthermore, if Toby gave them any indication that I wasn’t friendly, I couldn’t very well expect to be greeted with open arms. In other words, I had to treat my journey as one into hostile territory.
And that’s where it got even more complicated. Even if the Freemen were hostile to me now, my hopes were that I could convince them that if Toby had told them that I was an enemy that he was lying. And I had absolutely no idea how that was going to happen. And considering how I used to think of the Freemen as criminals and rejects of society (although I knew better now), I could only imagine what they must have thought of a “city girl” like me.
***
After the second carving I noticed, I opted not to press my luck by attracting anymore unwanted attention toward myself than I absolutely needed. I walked my motorcycle toward a wooded area and covered it in a big pile of leaves and branches. It wasn’t exactly perfectly hidden, but it would have to do for now.
I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I did bring my SIG Sauer with me, along with the metal claws which (ironically) Goram gave to me, not to mention my ever-present tactical knife. I had to treat this like a mission, with the crucial differences being that I was not trying to cause any collateral damage at all. It didn’t help that the environment was totally foreign to me. These were vast, open woodlands, stretching out as far as the eye could see. To help identify any markings that might be useful to me, I activated an imaging program in my helmet, searching for any kinds of markings that might otherwise go unnoticed. Fortunately, I found some and tracks to boot (no pun intended). They were very faint, or old, but they at least were headed in the direction of the coordinates I was given. My conclusion was that they belonged to the Freemen…or at least they led to their camp.
***
The first signs of life I found were not people; they were cows. I had never seen a real cow before, but here I was staring right at a massive creature on four hooves with (honestly) one of the sweetest expressions on its face that I had ever seen. They were all brown, and there were these little nubs on the top of its head where I guessed that its “horns” must have been. I wonder what happened to them. There were several more, just grazing in a big, all-too-open-for-comfort meadow. There were a few clouds in the sky…something else that I hadn’t seen before in the cities. Like the cows, they were just lazily passing me by.
Everything felt so peaceful…seductively so. I felt like a real stranger in my hard-edged body armor and helmet. I took them off in that field. Stupid, I’m sure India would have said, but these were cows! Actual cows! How could I not feel like I was among “all creatures great and small” as Nancy called it? I didn’t want to give my position away, but there was real grass beneath my toes. There was real fresh air. There was a real world here…finally the one that Nancy told me about. I always wanted to see it. I giggled. I laughed. I rolled around on the earth…I narrowly dodged something the cow left behind. I guess not all of nature was lovely.
Aside from sheltering under an overpass on the highway system for sleep, this was the first actual semblance of comfort I had enjoyed since…since Aiden sent me Nancy’s video. Oh wow…I had been going hard for days. I was starving. Nancy told me that you could “milk” a cow by pulling on its nipples, but I used to think that she was flirting with me when she told me that. But eyeing my bovine companions, I was wondering if it might work. I brought some appetite suppressants and stimulants, but evidently their effectiveness had reached the limit. And it wasn’t until right now that I realized just how tired I was. And stupid me, I fell asleep.
***
I woke up in loose fitting clothing. I suppose that was better than waking up naked given the circumstances. The rest wasn’t such a blessing. I was sitting in a chair, my arms tied behind it, and three people were seated opposite of me. I couldn’t quite tell who they were, or even if they were men or women, since they had a spotlight trained on my face. But one of the voices I knew…too well. And a pit in my stomach grew to the size of a canyon. I fucked up.
“This is the one I told you about, Marlon. She’s responsible for your daughter’s death.” Toby. “And now, she’s coming to kill me, too, and probably everyone else here, thanks to Hideo.” I was still a little groggy, but I could tell that he was waiving my own knife at me while telling Nancy’s dad what a horrible person I was.
“You may be right, Toby. I hate to admit it, but you may be right.” The man in the center, who must have been Marlon, stood up and walked into the light. He approached me and knelt down. I saw the face of a man who the years had hardened. A grizzled complexion. Salt and pepper hair clipped short. A beard just as short to match, in style and color. He wore a plaid shirt that looked like it was made from some soft yet sturdy material. It had leather elbow patches, which decidedly did not match the color of his tweed belt. He wore jeans that looked like they had survived for a hundred years…and they probably had. And boots that housed feet twice the size of mine. Here was a giant of a man, and his eyes held a sadness that filled me with grief. This was how I was to meet Nancy’s father for the first time?
“Don’t get too close, Marlon. I mean it. I showed you the videos, remember?” Wait, Toby showed him my assassination videos? “She’s Hideo’s personal hired killer. You saw what she can do with just a knife. I mean, you remember that woman from The Tencent School for Higher Learning who she killed with just a paperweight, right?! How horrible!”
“I remember. All of it.” Marlon continued to inspect me. He put his rough hands along my cheek and turned my head back and forth. “Agatha, what’re you thinking?”
“I don’t know what to think about all of this,” the third person behind the lights replied, who must have been Toby’s wife and Nancy’s aunt. “It’s just…why was she laying naked in the cow pasture? Is she sick? That outfit didn’t look too comfortable on her, anyway.”
“Just because she’s a murderous psychopath,” Toby answered—his patronizing tone of voice evident to me, even if not to his wife—“doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have her limits. I told you about this coming three days ago, when I came back here, remember? She’s been gunning for me ever since, and I’m sure that was Hideo’s intent all along. She had always been jealous of Nancy. I think she even had…feelings…for your daughter, Marlon…if you get my drift?” Was…was he actually trying to make it seem like that was weird or something? “So when Nancy didn’t return those feelings, she convinced Hideo that she was some kind of ‘defector’ or something, and had her ambushed.” I was feeling more and more disgusted with every word coming out of this little turd’s mouth. And everything I was suspicious of before was becoming crystal clear…even if it was probably too late to do anything about it.
“But,” Agatha meekly inquired, “Hideo’s our friend. I mean, he helped found this refuge with my brother. Why would he suddenly turn on us?”
“Because it wasn’t sudden, sweetheart. Haven’t I been telling you both for the last year that he’s lost the horizon? All he does is take more and more jobs for the same corporations he had always professed to want to tear down. And he gets richer and richer off of it all. And do we ever see a penny of it?”
“You know that isn’t why we agreed to work with him on this in the first place, Toby,” Marlon interjected. I gathered that there was an ideological dispute between not just Toby and Hideo, but with Marlon as well about how they should be conducting their business. “Money was never what we were after.”
“Yeah, yeah, Marlon. You’ve told me a thousand times.” I could see Marlon biting his tongue a bit, even though he didn’t seem like the kind to do that naturally. “But we can agree that without external support, the corporations would come down on us like a hawk. Everyone would be put to the sword.”
“…So you’ve reminded me.” Marlon stood up and returned to his seat. I could no longer see his expression, but the one he left me with told me that he and Toby probably rarely agreed about anything.
“So we’re agreed,” Toby concluded. “We have to kill her.”
“No,” Marlon weighed in. “…not yet, at least. I want to find out just what she knows.”
“What’s to know?!” Toby shouted as he stood up violently from his seat. “Nothing she says can be trusted! You know what she and Hideo did to Nancy! I cared for her, too! I never wanted this to happen when I agreed to be a go-between for us.”
“Your memory is short on that, Toby,” Marlon retorted. “Seems to me that you were the one wanting to keep one foot in our old way of life.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Agatha pleaded. I’m guessing this wasn’t the first time she was left to be the peacekeeper. “Toby is right, Marlon, that we do need to decide what’s to be done with this woman.”
“Agreed. And in time,” Marlon decreed. Toby threw his hands up and walked out. The other two followed him moments later, turning off the light as they went, leaving me alone in the dark to consider just how my story was going to end.
Chapter 14
The room that the Freemen kept me in was little more than a shed. There were no windows, which concerned me, but I could still hear the activity outside through the wooden walls. They included the sounds of assorted animals, although I didn’t know how those sounds corresponded with each animal. I imagined what some of them looked like. It would turn out that I was pretty close to what I imagined when I eventually did get to see them. Of course, that leads me to how I escaped in the first place.
The absolute last thing I expected to find in the shed was something I could use to cut myself loose. Whether it was an oversight or deliberately left for me, there was a shard of glass in the corner of the room which I almost cut my face on. How did I manage that? Well, I wasn’t planning on just sitting there waiting for something to happen to me, so I dropped down as quietly as I could, and started feeling around on the floor for something I could use to free myself. I was a little puzzled about why there was glass in here; after all, there were no windows. But that wasn’t a thought I was planning on having much of in that moment.
A few minutes later, the rope was frayed enough for me to pull it apart. Something also puzzled me. There was a little bit of black tape along the wider part of the shard, which saved me from cutting myself on it. Another peculiar bit of good fortune.
Of course, freeing my hands didn’t mean that I was free from imprisonment. I took the opportunity to feel just what I was wearing. It was…a dress. A long dress, but it was soft. I wondered how it looked in the light. I bet it had flowers on it. Not really my style, but to be fair, it was decent of them to put something on me. I just hoped that Toby wasn’t the one who found me. Since I didn’t feel like I had been molested anywhere, I had to assume that it wasn’t him.
And then I wondered if it was Nancy’s dress. I sniffed the fabric, and almost immediately tears welled up in my eyes and I started to cry. It took all I could do to push that down, however, because I knew that I had to figure out a way to get out of here. Any hint of a plan that I once had was long gone. The only thing I was sure of was that being out of the shed was better than being in it.
The floor was wood, and I felt more than a little give as I walked on it. And one of the planks was a bit loose. Quietly, I pulled the plank out with my fingers. There was about a half of a meter’s worth of clearance between the floor and the dirt below. If I could just pull out one more board, I could probably squeeze through and crawl my way out when the coast was clear. Wiggling the adjacent board for about five minutes gave me the opening that I needed.
The dirt was dry, thankfully, although I felt a bit guilty about messing up the dress. (It did have flowers on it.) From below the shed, I had a perfect 360-degree vantage point of…everyone’s feet. Still, better than nothing. I saw that there were, in fact, two guards positioned on opposite sides of the door to the shed. I could make out several small buildings…cabins, maybe…at different points on the left and right. I could see some bushes decorating the small houses. I could see people’s boots, sandals, and so forth moving to and fro, maybe a couple of dozen people or so, wishing everyone a good night. It was getting to be evening, so everything was a little dim as the sun was setting. This was good because it meant that I would be able to sneak out more easily under the cover of night. All I had to do was wait…and hope with every fiber of my being that no one would come to see me before then.
***
Night came, and the guards were relieved. This was my chance. In the faint glow of lamplight from the cabin windows, I could see that no one else was passing by this shed at the moment. On my belly, I practically slithered my way toward the largest grouping of bushes I had seen and hid behind them, hoping that the light coming from the window above me would instead cast a broad enough shadow to make me more difficult to see. So far, so good.
I saw that the two people, one man and one woman, guarding the shed were armed with what I would now call somewhat archaic rifles. They were likely single shot bolt action rifles, and they were probably generally used for hunting animals instead of people. (Nancy explained the process of hunting to me a while back; it took me a solid week to understand its purpose, however.)
Although I was tempted to produce a distraction to make sneaking easier, I realized that this was stupid. The act of creating a distraction would only make them more likely to investigate if something had happened to me. Throwing rocks to turn heads wasn’t going to save me here. So I waited for the inevitable conversation between the guards to mask my movement a bit better. It took all of five minutes before the guards started conversing, and about none other than “you know who”, no less.
“Do you really think she was sent here to kill us like Toby says?” the man asked. He had a cap with a brim on his head; it said something like “Rangers”.
“No. But I wonder how she found us. Really, our location should be secret. Since it clearly ain’t, yeah, I’ve got to consider all possibilities.” The woman had shoulder length red hair. It curled a bit at the ends. She was wearing a shirt kind of like Marlon’s, and had a small, white cylinder sticking out of the side of her mouth, emanating smoke.
Under the cover of their conversation, I rounded the corner of the cabin. I peeked inside for a moment. There was a family of five inside playing a game at a long, rectangular table. A man and woman, with three young children, two boys, one girl. They would pick up these small plastic pieces, and put little pegs in them, and spin some kind of dial in the center of a game board. They’d cheer every time the kids spun that dial. I had never seen a family have so much fun in my life. How I wished that my mother and father could be here…could live in a place like this. How I wished that they could be free! Small chance of that after what Aiden did.
It was so hard, but I had to relinquish my view of the game and continue my escape. The community was laid out in a pattern that seemed to defy expectations. I would have expected a symmetrical grid, but this almost looked like it was developed to exist around the trees. It occurred to me that the canopy must give them some kind of protection from prying eyes flying high above, but I couldn’t say how much of this was true for sure. Still, that gave me some greater measure of comfort that I would be less likely to be seen.
Just before I was out of earshot of my guards’ conversation, I heard none other than Marlon’s voice instruct them to open the door. I could still see the entrance way from my vantage point, which at this point was roughly ten meters away from where I started. Both Marlon and Toby walked into the shed; both were armed with shotguns. And a split second later, I could hear Toby cry out, “well, where the fuck is she?!” A brief pause, then, “God damn it, Marlon! I told you…I told you one of us should stay with her!” Both of them bolted out of the shed.
Marlon retrieved a firearm from his coat pocket, but it was bright orange with a massive barrel…something I hadn’t seen before. He fired it straight up into the air through a clearing in the canopy, and a glowing light shot upward, ignited, and descended slowly down toward them, illuminating the camp while casting a great deal of unnerving shadows. Shit, this was bad. I wasn’t going to have a lot of luck moving around and staying hidden in this kind of illumination.
“Split up!” Marlon shouted. By this point, virtually everyone from the assorted cabins had congregated around Marlon. He continued to issue orders with a booming voice. “Everyone grab a weapon and spread out! Find the girl! She should be considered very dangerous, so…”
“Use extreme prejudice when dealing with her,” Toby interrupted. “She cannot be allowed to leave. Your lives and those of your loved ones depend on it!” The crowd began to disperse and began searching high and low for me. I would be found at this rate and quickly. I had one last chance to do what I came here to do and that meant that I had to follow Toby.
I watched him walk with determination toward one of the cabins on the outskirts of the camp, away from the rest of the Freemen. Good. If I could sneak my way toward him and ambush him, I could take him down unseen and unheard. Then I could leave…but where would I go? I didn’t have time for these thoughts. All I had time for was to clear the distance between me and that far-off cabin…the one looking like it was hiding away from everything else…and finish what he started.
My heart was in my throat as I crept through the undergrowth. I heard some kind of barking…wait, Nancy told me about these. Cats? No, dogs! Wait, dogs meant that they could sniff me out. I hurried toward that shed and saw that even though Toby had gone inside, he hadn’t yet turned on the lights. The door was left open. He must have been in too much of a hurry tracking me down. Hatred makes people do stupid things. I crept in and prepared to lunge.
BANG!
Toby was no marksman, but with a shotgun, you don’t have to be. The left side of my face felt like someone had held it to a frying pan for about a week. Flesh ripped off from the glancing blow from the buckshot, which mercifully lacked the velocity necessary to crack the bones in my skull. But the same could not be said of my left eye which lacked the same fortitude. I would never see out of that eye again for the rest of my life…which by all accounts was looking to end in mere moments.
Chapter 15
It was all that I could do to keep from just grabbing my face and screaming, because that would have cost me valuable time, during which Toby would have surely blown my head off with the second shell chambered in his shotgun. I threw myself out of the entrance way and made a mad dash—well, more like a crawl, really—into the woods draped in the dark of night. The second shot went off just moments after I blinked out of his line of fire.
The blasts didn’t sound as loud as a shotgun should. That was surprising. But as I crept into the undergrowth, clutching my face and wincing with pain, through my good eye I thought I saw a suppressor attached to the end of the shotgun. He wanted some privacy with me, and I dreaded to think of why. At least, he didn’t want any company.
“Gena.” Toby’s voice was eerily calm for someone who I had no suspicions had any combat training. “I want you to understand something before you die. This...all of this...it’s your fault.” I wasn’t able to strike back. Shit, I was barely mobile in the first place. I felt like if I let go of my face, it would all just fall off. I...I wasn’t going to make it without medical attention, and soon. So it suddenly made sense: Toby was literally going to talk me to death.
“I never thought of you as a genius, Gena, but that’s why I selected you in the first place. Problem is, you were still too smart for your own good.” Branches crunched beneath his boot heels...slow, steady paces through the brush, with the sounds of searching and the glow of lights far off...too far off from us. “And worse, you were unappreciative. When someone gives you a gift, you...thank them. I gave you the chance to thank me, Gena, and you abused me. You made an enemy out of someone better than you. So that brings me back to whether you are smart or not.” I imagined that smarmy mug grinning, thinking that he was in control of the situation. Unfortunately, he was.
“You should know that what happened to Nancy was supposed to happen to you. You don’t get to be where I am today without making important...connections. You should have been reduced to ashes.” I was still confused on that detail, and as if Toby had truly begun reading my thoughts, he answered as I crept as quietly as I could through the darkness, my blood ruining Nancy’s lovely flower dress even more than the dirt.
“The buttons you girls swallowed...they are a fail-safe. My design but set to Hideo’s parameters. When your heart rate reaches zero beats per minute, they are activated. From that point on, whoever transmits a subsonic frequency to that button can cause a chemical to be released into the blood stream which reacts...shall we say...intensely. This ensures that the bodies of our assassins could not be sufficiently identified were they to fall in the line of duty.” This made sense as to why Aiden was driven—even at the expense of more practical means—of delivering an electric shock right to my heart, except...wait, why didn’t he just use a gun, instead?
Toby continued to stalk me through the woods. Light was fading all around us. I saw a faint greenish light from where I approximated Toby’s skull to be. Oh fuck, he brought night-vision goggles. This was getting better and better.
“But what was so ironic,” Toby continued, “is that Hideo was so set on training his little ‘ninja’ squad so perfectly that there was never cause to use it. That’s why he assigned each mission personally...he always wanted to coddle you little brats, so the first time it was ever used in the field...was with Nancy. And you know what the funny part was?” He allowed himself a dramatic pause as he loaded the chamber of his shotgun. “Hideo didn’t pull the trigger. I did. But you left me no choice!” He fired another suppressed blast, but it was far too wide from my location. That reassured me, even if only for a moment, that despite his advantages, he hadn’t figured out where I was hiding. But that wouldn’t last. He kept talking...rubbing in just how fucked I well and truly was. He was giving away his position, but he knew all too well that I was out of options to turn the tides. It was like with Goram again, but this time, I had nothing...not even a complete face anymore.
“You know, your idiot brother actually believed that the buttons were meant to deliver a paralyzing agent to the central nervous system, so that when your heart rate was restored, you’d be completely at his mercy.” So Aiden didn’t want to kill me...but he could have fooled me. I hoped that meant that there was some chance left of bringing him back to his senses.
“I suppose I should thank you, Gena, if only for one thing. You set my plans into motion…” Another shotgun blast...closer now. “You motivated me to accelerate my contingency plans. You see, Hideo could never really see the truth. You can’t fight progress. And like it or not, you have to control the system from within, not try to sabotage it to bring it down. For a while, I was sure that I had convinced him to stop his petty, costly guerrilla tactics and make a real business out of his enterprise. That’s when you came into it. But he would never really let any of his soldiers fall. And that was his pride talking. A soldier only has one job: to die for his cause. There’s no room for soft hearts. You need to climb the tree of prosperity and take the apple that grows from it for yourself, not chop it down because you don’t like the color of its leaves.” I was surprised by the metaphor; Toby really didn’t seem the type. I heard him load another couple of rounds into his gun. He was nearly on top of me.
“But Hideo was always too trusting. He never even considered that I would betray him. Luckily, not all of his agents were exactly what I’d call a ‘brain trust’. Goram, notably. So fiercely loyal and driven for blood that all it took was a coded message ostensibly from Hideo identifying you as traitors to set him on the warpath. Since you’re here, it’s clear that he died for nothing.” I almost felt sorry for Goram, now...but only almost. It’s true; he must have been more cunning than smart. Didn’t he remember that Hideo only gave his missions in person?
As close as Toby was, my right arm reached for something...anything that I could use, even as feeble as it might be, as a weapon. I found a tree branch, about ten centimeters in diameter, and almost a meter long. Great...I had a stick. I was so dead. I just didn’t know it yet.
“The only thing I hadn’t planned on was your dumb brother outing you publicly. He must have really hated you and his parents to do something like that. No matter. I’ll find some way to put his...enthusiasm to good use, before I ultimately dispose of him.” Calm, Gena, calm. He’s trying to get you upset...and he’s doing a fucking good job at it! The glow of Toby’s goggles were so close that I could see its three deathly green lights searching for me. They weren’t staring in my direction...yet. But I had to duck down to avoid being seen at all; otherwise, I’d surely give my position away. There was nothing to do but curl up in the dark, the blood on my face growing colder and colder, my breathing and heartbeat becoming slower. Everything was growing ever darker.
“There’s no way that Hideo doesn’t know that I’ve betrayed him by now. No matter. The Freemen are my family. They trust me. There’s no way that they’d believe an outsider over me. I can use that...just like I used you, Gena. When Hideo comes—and he will—we will be ready for him. I’ll tell everyone that he was a traitor...that he sent you to infiltrate us...to kill us. And you won’t be able to say any different, because you’ll be dead.” Though my hearing was failing, I heard Toby chamber the shells like before. I tried to heft the log, but he kicked it from my hand with more ease than I would like to admit. I had no strength left.
This was it. I was going to die here in the woods. Toby pressed his shotgun down hard on my chest. There would be no misfires now.
“Goodbye, Gena. You brought this on yourself.”
BANG!
Blood splattered my face...Toby’s blood. That wasn’t the sound of a shotgun; it was a single shot bolt action rifle, like the kind the guards were carrying. Toby collapsed onto my left side, but I was already going into shock. The last thing I heard before oblivion claimed me was a woman—Agatha—saying, “’till death do us part.”
***
When I did wake up, I was lying in an unfamiliar bed. I couldn’t really feel anything, but I could tell that I wasn’t restrained or anything like that this time. It was a bright room. There were white curtains all around the bed, but lights running across the wooden ceiling made everything feel very bright. My mouth was very, very dry and my face was itchy. And...I couldn’t see out of my left eye. I sighed. So it wasn’t a nightmare. That happened. My life happened. And somehow, miraculously, it continued.
Out of my remaining eye, I looked down to see myself covered by a pale blue blanket. I pulled it away slightly to see that I was, in fact, wearing a hospital gown beneath it. My left arm had an IV needle stuck into me, and fluids were being pumped into my bloodstream, keeping me healthy...relatively speaking.
A faint beeping sound came from the table on my left. I craned my neck as best as I could to try to see what was causing it...it seemed to match my heart rate. Alas, I couldn’t turn far enough. My head and neck were wrapped up in a significant amount of bandaging. My right hand went up to touch my scalp, only to find that it too was covered. I wondered if my hair was alright. I started to chuckle involuntarily at the absurdity of such a thought in this situation.
Clearly someone felt like it was worthwhile keeping me alive. I had to assume it was the Freemen. And since I assumed that one of them had killed Toby, I also had to assume that although they were planning on keeping me alive, I didn’t know to what end. But since I was here, I was sure that someone was going to tell me. I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.
***
The curtain was pulled back gently. A face I recognized and one that I did not walked into my space and sat down on chairs that they brought with them. The man was Marlon, Nancy’s father. He had a serious, stern look on his face. The other was a woman, with a semi-long bob haircut swooped somewhat to the left. It was blondish-gray, but somehow struck me as “sporty”. She was wearing a beige long cowl neck sweater and dark purple jeans. She had a black armband on her sleeve. Although I had only seen her in silhouette before, I was sure that this was Agatha. She spoke first.
“Hello, Gena. How are you feeling?” There was no sarcasm or derision in her voice, and no semblance of unease or lack of assurance. I decided that she was no enemy...at least, not yet anyway.
“...I’m alive. That’s a start.”
“Yes. You’re alive. And my husband is not. Do you know why?” I shook my head as much as my limited range of motion would allow. “It’s because last week, he confirmed a suspicion I had long held. That he was using us to further his own ambitions. And that he was ready to sacrifice us to that end.” I remembered Toby talking at length about his plans...his vision for the future. And it didn’t matter who died or got hurt in the process.
“Yeah, I...I remember. You...you saved my life.”
“Yes, Gena. I did. I’m sorry that I didn’t save all of you. I…” Agatha sighed, “I had to be sure.”
We sat there in silence for a minute. I spoke next. I had questions, and I’m sure they did too, so we might as well get started.
“I thought you were the leader of the Freemen,” I said, as I pointed to Marlon.
“It’s complicated,” he replied. “...And it’s not. Let me explain. Ten years ago, I found an artifact of the Old World…”
“The bird guide, right? Nancy told me.” Marlon’s eyes watered a bit.
“Right. I didn’t know what to think. I shared what I found with my sister, Agatha.” Marlon held her hand, and she squeezed it. Despite appearances, I could tell that Agatha was really his source of strength, even though he conveyed it more visibly than she did. “She suggested that we carefully begin hinting at it among our friends and loved ones. Obviously I didn’t bring it up to Nancy...not then, she wouldn’t have understood. But I told my wife, Eliza. Nancy looked so like her…” His head fell somewhat. I waited for him to gather his strength back to continue.
“Eliza was a director of supplies and materials for a manufacturing division of a corporation. She used her position to make two things happen. One, she leaked coded messages through the dark web, which was a capital offense in and of itself. But on top of that, she secretly diverted building materials and supplies over a year long period to an off-the-grid drop site. We were gathering supplies to make our exodus...our escape. That’s how Hideo found us.”
“Hideo was young and full of fire then,” Agatha continued where Marlon left off. “He was...is a genius, really. He had escaped from a work camp at the age of eleven and survived in the wilderness as he grew up hard. He was fortunate to discover one of those lost bunkers in the wilds. The ones built in anticipation of the last world war. He taught himself everything he could from the vast library of books and data inside. He traveled the world, even visiting places long since thought uninhabitable, like Asia. But most of all, Hideo loved history. He compared our world to one under an authoritarian dictatorship, and also how we could undermine it. He, Marlon, Eliza, Toby, and I all sat down one fateful evening to discuss what that would include. We...did not agree.”
Now Marlon picked up where Agatha left off. “We did acknowledge that we were all on the same side...at least most of us were, it appears. Hideo said that he would help us with our escape and outfit us with the supplies and equipment we needed. In exchange, we would provide...assets to him to be trained and to become soldiers in his war on the corporate government that had taken over what remained of our planet. He assured us that he would not make the same mistake he had made before, which was trying to assault these corporations through skirmishes...which is how he lost his previous followers. Well, most of them. There was someone called ‘Goram’ who accompanied him like a bodyguard, which Hideo didn’t really need. Needless to say, we couldn’t accept his terms.”
“Eliza made a counter-offer,” Agatha added. “She said that we would maintain a secret operating base in the wilds far from the mega-cities, which would be protected ground for him and his allies at all times. If anyone from the community wished to join Hideo and aid him directly, they were welcome to offer their expertise to that end. Hideo agreed to the compromise, and we set the wheels of our plans into motion. But even then, not all welcomed the paradigm shift.” Agatha lowered her gaze. “And I’m sorry to say that my husband was the most outspoken. He accused us of selfishly trying to uproot him from a ‘promising career’, and that there was no guarantee that we could even survive in the wilds. He threw every paranoid fear at us, from the water being toxic from the nuclear fallout a hundred years ago to Hideo being a double agent trying to get us to expose ourselves to corporate retaliation.” Agatha sighed. “It’s a hard thing to admit that you don’t trust your husband anymore. But we had all seen the lies inflicted upon us with our own eyes. We could never go back to that self-deception. Even if we had to give up a few comforts, there was so much richness in the world waiting to be appreciated...how could we not?”
“The plan was supposed to be flawless,” Marlon went on. “We were being smuggled across the border in a massive convoy of remote-controlled trucks. Hideo had arranged for the trucks to divert from their programmed routes at a point when it would have been impossible to interfere at the company’s command terminal, at which point they would be driven manually out through the abandoned highway system all the way to predesignated coordinates. Aboard the transports were everything from food stuffs and clothing, to building materials, tools, and even embryonic fertilization equipment. In a sense, this was our ‘ark’. Getting the material wasn’t easy, and we had to be extra careful to avoid suspicion. I guess that’s why what happened seemed inevitable at the time…”
“We had a problem,” Agatha clarified. “Somehow, Hideo lost manual control of the trucks. He was not going to be able to divert them at the appointed time. If—and when—it was discovered that they contained contraband after arrival, all parties involved would surely be exposed. That’s when Eliza made her sacrifice.” Marlon turned away, his face in his hand. “She controlled the trucks from the source, but she did so only by holding the rest of the staff responsible for it at gunpoint. Once the job was finally done, she knew that if she were caught, she would be unable to resist the inevitable torture, and would surely give up the location of our secret paradise yet-to-be. So she did the only thing she could think of…” Agatha didn’t need to say what Eliza did to keep their secret.
“It wasn’t until last night that I knew in my heart that Toby was responsible for it all. But back then, we were so grief-stricken and still so sure ourselves that no one spoke up about how it might have gone wrong in the first place. A rift grew between Hideo and Marlon; they blamed each other for the fatal error, but respected that they had achieved the first steps in their respective goals. Toby, on the other hand, became increasingly interested in Hideo’s work. I know that Hideo never liked Toby, but as a pragmatist, he saw the value in his skill as a networker to build the army he needed. Toby became our liaison, our link to the world we left behind. But Toby never left that world. He just brought all of the evil that it stained his soul with along for the ride.”
I cleared my throat, not just because I needed water. Marlon noticed, and poured a cup for me, and helped me take a sip. Then he finished the history of the Freemen.
“When we got here, no one was truly ready to really live off of the land. Hideo was a big help, I have to admit. He showed us how to build in such a way so as to be inconspicuous, using nature to our advantage. I was a quick learner, and because I was the first to discover the artifact—that bird book—I kind of became a de facto leader. But Agatha was always much more clear-sighted than I was. More capable of guiding our little community in ways I could never have understood. So the truth is that she’s really the one who runs things, even if only from the sidelines.”
“Toby fooled us all, Gena,” Agatha leaned in and took my hand. “I wished every day and prayed that I was wrong about him. I started camouflaging my behavior to throw him off of the scent of my ever growing suspicions, and did what I could to hint to Hideo to watch him. I guess I did so too late.”
“No,” I replied. “I get it. I’m not mad at you. I...I underestimated him. He’s...ruined my life...my family.” The tears burned in both eyes, but especially the missing one. I tried to collect myself. “I think...I think that’s why Hideo took me off of the mission where Nancy...I mean, I think he knew, and was hoping for Toby to reveal himself, to cancel the ambush, or something. I just...I couldn’t even believe he did it, knowing what I know now. I mean, family’s the only thing you have when it’s all over. I...I wish I…”
I couldn’t go on. Both Marlon and Agatha held me like I was their daughter. I kept thinking about Aiden and my parents. I didn’t know what was coming next, except that I couldn’t just let Aiden go. He and I...we needed to finish this. I didn’t want to kill him; far from it. But I had to bring him back to his senses. I had to tell him what I learned about Toby, and hope that he would be willing to hear me out and let go of the hatred that consumed him, because it was all a lie. A terrible, cruel lie by a terrible, cruel man who finally got what was coming to him.
I had to go back.
Chapter 16
It wouldn’t be for another week until I left. It wasn’t due to cold feet or anything like that. I simply needed more time to recover. Agatha and Marlon both tried to convince me that I wasn’t ready...that I wasn’t healed up enough yet. They were probably right, but what choice did I have. I had to go get my family...what was left of it anyway. And who knew what problems that would entail.
Before I left, Agatha gave me Toby’s identity ring. She made it clear that she had no sentimental value attached to any of Toby’s rings that he left behind, but that this one would arguably serve two purposes. First and most important, she said, was that it would make it appear—at least to computer sensors—that I was Toby Monroe. That would keep me safe from the automated security systems operating in GE University. Second—and Agatha was less enthused about this—was that it would send a signal to both Hideo and Aiden that I had killed Toby, for whatever that meant to them. I speculated that if Toby had indeed behaved as though he were some kind of a savior for Aiden that this wouldn’t help my cause any when it came time to convince him to forgive me. That almost convinced me to take my chances without it, but I realized that Aiden would find out eventually...and the deception had to end.
I couldn’t wear my helmet anymore. The bandages saw to that, despite being greatly reduced in size and quantity. It amounted to little more than a wrap along the left side of my face, covering my now withered left eye. Agatha told me that it was a miracle that I wasn’t struck blind after suffering the trauma. But luck is something that I’ve come to realize is...ahem...in the eye of the beholder. Yeah, there was that gallows humor again. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t so far gone.
My makeshift armor still fit, even if it was a bit tricky getting into it again. Not just because of the physical trauma I had experienced, but also because of the couple of extra pounds I had put on while recovering. Marlon was a wonderful cook. He made the most amazing thing called “meat loaf” which I now wanted to eat every day for the rest of my life.
I remember asking them for popcorn when they first asked what I wanted to eat. Marlon and Agatha gave each other a knowing glance, which kind of freaked me out. I asked them, “What, it’s not like it’s made out of people or something, is it? Please don’t tell me that!” They laughed to one another, then explained that, no, it wasn’t made out of people. It was just that they were reminded of how it used to be before they escaped, when they realized that popcorn was just a super-cheap food stuff that could be pumped full of vitamins and artificial flavoring. The popcorn we knew was designed to deny people of the great experience that cooking and partaking in a wonderful meal truly meant. It was hollow sustenance for a hollow society.
I was lucky where the motorcycle was concerned on two counts. One, Marlon was indeed a skilled mechanic. He was responsible for maintaining the solar generators that kept power circulating through the community, but was also able to tune up my motorcycle. Second, and more important, he installed a series of switches on the operating panel, which he explained to me was an emergency escape system, if I were ultimately discovered by the security drones in GE University.
There were three switches, color coded: green, yellow, and red. The green switch transitioned the fuel source for the bike from electricity to something he called “diesel”, which made the bike smell really funky, by the way. He said that this was from a very limited stash of “fossil fuels” which Hideo gave to them, and which Marlon was finally happy to find a use for. The yellow switch caused a series of panels covering the bike to fly off, revealing a strange, shiny metal covering virtually the entire motorcycle beneath it. Marlon called this stuff “mu metal”, which immediately brought to mind those cows I saw when I first arrived here. He said this was a “Faraday cage”, but I didn’t understand what that was, so he simplified it by saying that it would protect me and the bike when I threw the third switch. He said that when I did that, the bike would discharge an EMP pulse from the rear, disabling any electronic equipment not otherwise protected by the Faraday cage within a one-hundred and fifty meter radius. He warned me to be extra careful because I’d probably feel very wobbly after using it, so he recommended slowing down to a crawl before attempting it. I told him that I hoped that it wouldn’t even come to that.
I bid farewell to Agatha, Marlon, and the rest of the community, which had come to meet me and see how I was feeling. I admit, I was guarded at first. After all, I didn’t know anybody here, and given how much abuse my trust had taken lately, it was hard not to be cautious. Regardless, they greeted me as warmly as if we were already family. It made me wonder how Nancy could have even thought of leaving. But like Warren—the same guy with the Rangers cap—told me, “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence”. It was going to take some time to get used to all of the aphorisms, but right now, all I could think about was finding Aiden. I learned about most of my caretakers, their names, interests, hobbies, even their former lives. I learned that one of them used to do make up and costumes for stage productions in their old life. I asked if he still had any face masks from that time period, which fortunately he did.
They gave me back my weapons when I was ready to leave, even though I hoped that I wouldn’t need to use them. Armed and ready—as ready as I was going to be—I set off once again across the country.
***
I rode into town wearing a full-face mask. It was high quality synthetic rubber and wasn’t too uncomfortable. It fit nicely, but more importantly concealed that I had bandages covering half of my head. That was important because even if the identity ring would identify me as someone for whom it would not be suspicious to travel between the corporate city universities, bandages implied some failing or act of violence or accident, all of which would immediately draw the attention of the authorities. See, people in these worlds just didn’t suffer wounds like these. If they did, they were sent “somewhere else”. Mistakes were not allowed. Flaws were forbidden. Wow...I was starting to really feel like this place where I spent almost two years of my life was a nightmare realm of tyranny and sadness...hostile territory, which it was.
Short of ideas, I returned to the ruin of the bar...the bar that I ruined, that is. But this time, I didn’t go in the front door right away. I scouted the perimeter for any sign that someone was watching. I didn’t see anyone on the roof, in the alleys, or anywhere else. More importantly, I didn’t see any kind of corporate surveillance, either. I guess something that happened over two weeks ago was old news.
Confident that I wasn’t being watched, I went inside. It was eerie. Instead of any kind of residual mess, the entire place had been restored, almost perfectly, making it look like there had never been any kind of bloodbath. I couldn’t figure it out. Who would bother returning this fake pharmacy to a simulacrum of its former self? But when I thought about it, I realized that the corporate city did all of this. How do you maintain an illusion of safety? Pretend the crime never happened. After all, no one was around when it did, and no one who was lost couldn’t be explained away. But what about the secret passage below? I got my answer when I went into the back room.
Gone. The door leading down into the bar was completely sealed over. So was the metal detector. As though they were never there in the first place. Now the place was nothing more than window dressing. Background for this way of life and those who still dwelt within its confines. But for my purposes, it meant that I wouldn’t be finding Aiden or Hideo here. It turned out that I was half right.
I didn’t know this at the time, but a remote sensor was installed in the pharmacy. That sensor sent a signal to someone, and that someone greeted me as I exited the building with a rocket launcher.
I heard the rocket fire before I saw it and dove out of the way at the last second. I was fine, but wouldn’t you know it? That unlucky pharmacy was just going to have to be rebuilt yet again, because little was left but piles of shattered concrete and melted plexiglass.
I ripped my mask off and turned my good eye up toward the rooftop of a building catty-corner from the wreckage. And I saw that all-too familiar sneer beneath the scope of an M24 sniper rifle. One round hit my left forearm, and again despite the pain, I had to thank India (even though she was gone) for this amazing body armor. But before that, I ducked into one of the alleyways to escape Aiden’s line of fire.
I knew that two things were going to happen. One, Aiden would come down to try to finish the job. Apparently, non-lethal means—intended or otherwise—were now off the table. That told me that he knew that Toby was dead, although I wasn’t sure how he found out just yet. Second, owing to his public display of carnage via the RPG, I was sure that we could expect company in short order.
I saw the bolt from a zipline gun pierce the concrete wall just above me, and a wire trailing upward toward the direction of the rooftop where Aiden ambushed me from. He was being reckless, whether he knew it or not. I didn’t want to kill him, no, but I was growing increasingly comfortable with disabling him. I drew my SIG Sauer, and desperately hoped that he would be reckless enough to let me hit him in the arm, and nowhere more serious. I waited for him to come sliding down that zipline, and even though I knew that the window to fire would be ultra-tight, I trained my pistol on his destination. That was my big mistake.
When I fired, all that I hit was a mannequin...a decoy. Before I knew what was happening, Aiden leapt down from the rooftop above me. His boots smashed into my shoulders, knocking me off-balance, and then he slashed at me with a kukri knife. He cut my armor, which thankfully protected me from anything more than a superficial wound—except it exposed a clear patch of flesh on my left side...which I couldn’t see clearly owing to my impaired vision. And that’s when Aiden brandished his gold filigreed Glock 19x pistol, aimed at my now exposed flesh, and fired. In the pain, I dropped my pistol. Or maybe it was the raw shock of knowing that my brother just put a bullet in me and intended to end my life. Either way, I was bleeding out. And he...he was smiling.
Chapter 17
I believe that this is where we came in.
Aiden was readying his killing blow. He had his pistol pressed against my forehead. I had cheated death already with Toby. I couldn’t count on history repeating itself...or could I? A blur collided with Aiden and plowed him into the brick wall opposite me. Aiden’s gun went off a mere centimeter from my ear. It would take several seconds before my hearing came back, so I didn’t hear what the masked figure said to my brother, as he yanked his arms back behind his body, resting his knee against the base of Aiden’s spine. From what I could gather, though, Aiden’s eyes grew wide, his jaw went semi-slack, and he went as pale as a sheet. Tears welled up in his eyes, and when he dropped to his knees, clutching his face with his hands, only then did the figure remove his mask.
Hideo.
My hearing was coming back, but Hideo wasted no time, and knelt down by my side. He cradled my head in his left hand and withdrew some kind of metal wand from his utility belt with his right. He was dressed in an outfit that was the spitting image of India’s, although his was sized for someone of his physique. The tip of the wand expanded and became something resembling a plunger. He pressed it firmly against my wound, which hurt intensely. But what followed was even more painful. The device began to whir to life, and in one sharp motion, he pulled it away from me with Aiden’s bullet magnetically lodged to the plunger end. And a split second later, he withdrew an emergency medical anesthetic and tissue adhesive combo tool, sterilizing and sealing my wound.
“...no time to delay, Gena. You and your brother must flee right now. The school’s defense drones are inbound and will destroy any anomaly. That includes you and Aiden.”
“Hideo...but I…” He put a hand over my mouth and pointed to my motorcycle.
“Go.” He actually leapt upward several meters, kicked off of the brick building, and used that momentum to propel himself up to the rooftop. And then he was gone. Aiden had started to come to his senses. His face was most definitely not smiling right now, but there was—despite that—a look of...elation.
“Gena...I…” He wanted to say he was sorry. And I was ready to forgive him and all of that, but then I heard that death knell. The gravitronic thrum of dozens of unmanned killing machines less than a kilometer away.
“There’s no time. We have to move. Now!” I grabbed his arm and even though my side was killing me, we raced--limped, if I was being completely honest—to my upgraded motorcycle. I took the front, and Aiden sat behind me. “You know how to ride one of these?” He nodded, and proceeded to wrap his arms around my torso, which only compounded the pain from where he shot me. I winced, but had no time to scream, as a laser blast narrowly missed us both and carved a chunk out of one of the adjacent buildings. The first shot across the bow...a harbinger of death.
I pressed the ignition, and we bolted at breakneck speed through the ravaged streets. Destination: the fuck outta here! The front wheel kicked up from the sudden acceleration, but I had grown used to this baby as of late, so I took control of her like a fierce lover.
This kind of machine was built with speed and aerodynamics in mind. Unfortunately, that meant that I didn’t have the benefit of any kind of way of seeing what was behind me. It was probably for the best. Had I looked back, I might have lost my nerve. Instead, I was relying on sound before unleashing my secret weapon.
Through tight curves and long straightaways, I bobbed and weaved between blasts of high-heat beams of light and watched the so-called defense drones of this nightmare city turn this overly sterile and artificial urban landscape into a warzone. Lasers ripped through cafes and gymnasiums. Manufacturing classrooms and synthetic theaters were shredded and set ablaze. People ran screaming from the robots that seemed more interested in destroying anything that challenged their programmed vision of what reality should be, ambivalent of—no, incapable of—respecting the welfare of the very people who made up that city.
After Aiden had gathered himself, he took the opportunity to lean back and fire off several rounds from his pistol at the drones. Even though they apparently had bulletproof shielding—meaning that despite the so-called illegality of guns, these corporations knew the score—Aiden’s shots managed to disorient the densely packed drones to the extent that when they collided with the others, it created a chain reaction that took out far more than his few bullets ever could.
Gotta love a chain reaction.
As we approached the city limits, the heat of the lasers was so intense that I was beginning to feel my body armor chaffing, I flipped the green switch. I remembered what Marlon said about slowing the bike to a crawl, but this was a risk I was just going to have to take. The drones weren’t going to give us any mercy. I gave it a moment before I felt the engine change over to the auxiliary fuel source before I flicked the yellow switch.
Dozens of panels flew off from my motorcycle, and in the bright sun blazing high in the sky, the bike practically glowed. The Faraday cage was so reflective, that it was almost blinding...but not so much to keep me from throwing that final, red switch.
I felt like I had been thrown into a pool a thousand meters deep. Everything seemed to slow down and shudder. And behind me...quiet. Deathly quiet. Until the simultaneous collision of a thousand mechanical killers slamming into the ground and whatever unfortunate structures nearby just so happened to break their fall. The bike shook and shimmied. It moaned and thrust back and forth, again and again. And then calm...easy riding toward the west and out of the city forever.
I pulled out a pair of sunglasses from my breast pocket and put them on. Then, I leaned into my machine and whispered, “Was it good for you, too?”
***
On our way across the countryside, as the sun was setting, I pulled the bike over along the abandoned highway. Agatha had shared some old maps with me while I was recovering. I guessed that we must have been in what used to be Iowa by the time we stopped...by the time the adrenaline had subsided. I knew of a safe place to stay for the night. But before I took Aiden there, I had questions. I turned to him, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he looked at me with...love in his eyes.
We said, “I’m sorry” at the same time. We needed a moment to gather ourselves. He spoke first.
“They’re safe.”
“Who?” Oh...OH! Our parents! My eyes went wide, although I had to remove my shades for the effect to be known to him.
“Hideo told me that he intercepted their transport to the internment camp and put them in the company of a couple of trusted operatives to take them to safety. They’ll be waiting for us...in Montana.” We both cried and hugged one another. It was over. All of the pain we inflicted on one another. All of the suffering we put our loved ones through. All of the delusions we had about living a life that was never really real. Just a sad and desolate simulation of life. That wasn’t our future anymore. We found something more important. We found our souls. We found each other again.
Epilogue
A year had passed since Aiden and I moved into the Freemen community. He was right; our parents were waiting for us. I expected them to be panic-stricken. They certainly weren’t at ease with everything that had transpired in the past several weeks but seeing us together again brought everything back into orbit.
The Azaria family has since become a valued and contributing new addition to the Freemen. Dad and Mom found their calling in farming. Imagine that? I helped Marlon with handling the technical repairs in and around the facility, while Aiden...Aiden blew us all away. He was right, of course; he was smarter than all of us.
Aiden began a process of cycling the energy circuits of our solar power banks to yield even more efficient output. He found a way of creating a synergistic heating system, which meant that come winter, we didn’t have to be as concerned about conserving our energy usage as much. And it didn’t stop there, oh no! He was able to produce a totally natural soil fertilizer from the available resources and chemicals we had to make our crops not only more abundant, but healthier, too. And he was only getting warmed up.
But the question on everyone’s minds was: “What happened to Hideo?” And on the anniversary of the day when Aiden and I moved into our new home for good, he returned. And when he did, he brought Aiden, Marlon, Agatha, my parents, and me all together to explain.
He said that he needed time to consider his next step very carefully. He said that he learned that no knowledge can come from pride…only from humility. And he had been humiliated to discover just how easily he had let himself be swayed by Toby. He realized that deep down, he was afraid. Not of death, but of failing his mission.
His mission, he said, was ours. We wanted to change the world, just like he had. But in his pride, he had believed that the world could be changed by force, either directly or—in the case of his secret collection of assassins—indirectly. He knew differently now. He realized that only by living your values could you truly change the world, and that was why Agatha, Marlon, and the rest of the Freemen were right where he was so tragically wrong.
After losing too many loved ones in fruitless assaults on the faceless corporations which held the surviving world in chains of complacency and indifference, he considered a new, more subtle strategy. He would train a team of highly skilled assassins, basing their methods loosely on the ninja, a highly specialized type of assassin from ancient Japan. And he would sell their services to pit corporation against corporation, inciting distrust and disharmony, all while reducing their numbers from within at their own behest.
But that wasn’t all. He compiled the data about his clients and those who hired him to perform these murders to use later as leverage. He thought that if he could destabilize the corporate city states to the point where unfettered chaos became the rule rather than the exception, that this reprehensible power elite would lose their grip on society. And that by exposing their hypocrisy and complicity in murder that people would see their oppressors for what they truly are: monsters.
But Hideo was wrong. He said that all it took to show him how easily he had fallen into the swamp himself was Gena. India had approached him following their heart-to-heart conversations, but he was still too proud to tell her that he had doubts about his methods. But Gena’s fierce independence reminded him of himself...or the Hideo he used to be, at least. He sensed something ill at ease. He intended to confide these doubts to Gena and India, despite the unflinching exterior he had cultivated for his image. But then Toby’s scheme led to Nancy’s death, and there was no going back.
Hideo said that when he saw her die, he knew that his mission was a failure. He knew that there would be no way that this could ever work again. But the match was struck, and Toby had already set Goram on a collision course with Gena and India and given Aiden access to the footage necessary to out her in front of the world.
Hideo admitted that he felt powerless...for the first time since he was that scared little boy of eleven trying to survive on his own, he was lost. He decided that if nothing else, he would do what he could to keep our family whole. And to that end, he saved our parents and told Aiden in that alley where it almost came apart entirely something that forever changed Aiden’s world...and may have saved all of ours.
He told him that our parents were alive, yes, but he said something else. He said, “You can let this hate destroy you; but what next? Who will be left to love you when all you have left is ashes? Remember the love you and your family share. You can have it all back, I promise you. It’s not too late. They love you. We love you. We forgive you.”
I forgive you.