Mikelas laughs, an ugly sound.
“Looks like you’ve forgotten how to count, princess. This isn’t some Game encounter, and your guildies ain’t here. There’s twelve of us, and one of you. We’re gonna fuck you up, in every sense of the word. Everyone knows Hammer let you win that fight. No one solos a dragon. We had to ditch the encounter, and we’re the best guild in the Game.”
My knuckles whiten on the hilt, and he laughs again. The group in front is almost twenty meters away now, several putting on brass knuckles, others pulling telescopic clubs out of their pockets.
“Aww, did I hurt your feels with that one, Ash? You sweet on Hammer? You have been fucking your way up the leaderboard, haven’t you? Hell knows you never would’ve made it on top on your own, not without being on top of someone else.”
“Last chance, Mikelas. You don’t deserve it, but I’m putting it out there anyway. Walk away, never come back, and we keep this in the Game.”
“The only thing you’re going to be putting out is your pussy, you black bitch. Looks like this bridge is suffering a cam malfunction right now. Not everyone in the Brown thinks your shit smells like the Theocrophant’s roses.” He sneers, then motions to his companions. “Take her down.”
I exhale slowly, hands and feet sliding into combat stance. Twelve top-tier players, perfectly comfortable coordinating in groups of four, their bodies honed by years of one-to-one fidelity in the Game, their capacity for violence now second nature. Most likely planning to disarm me, rape me, then kill me. And for what, because I’m better than them at a game? Because I hurt their precious egos? And my brother led them to me?
…
The air seems to splinter into jagged crystal, or maybe that’s just my mind.
Mom is broken, Brand is dead, and I am done putting up with stupid shits like Mikelas. They want an encounter in the real? They’ll get one.
“You say the cams aren’t working, Mikelas?”
The front group of seven pauses, now five meters away, caught off guard by my question.
“Good.”
I charge, smiling, my target a pale teenager with a crooked nose on the left side of the line. His eyes widen at my expression. Three steps bring me in range, and I duck under his wild swing, brass knuckles glinting over my head. I dip my blade in and twist it out, sidestepping a descending telescopic rod. He collapses, hands clutching his ruined groin, wanting to deny the suddenly undeniable. Another rod sweeps at me and I step into the blow, locking my hand around a thick wrist covered in coarse black hair, absorbing the glancing strike on my shoulder. A quick turn and pivot, and he goes crashing to the ground. My blade dips again, a high-pitched squealing sound erupting from the body now writhing on the concrete.
I flip the rod up in the air with my foot and catch it in my free hand, spinning past a fist covered in metal. It clips my chin, but I ignore the pain. I’ve taken worse in the Game.
Another gentle touch, another bloom of former vitality, another trimming slice to the gene pool. I dive over a roundhouse kick, then roll past muscular legs, shockingly pale where bare skin lies unrevealed. A quick thrust, and bright red paints the pale canvas. He collapses to the ground, hands instinctively going to violated flesh. A thin keening whistles past his clenched teeth, but I’m beyond caring.
The fifth goon’s eyes go wide with fright, and I break his arm with my appropriated club. Brass knuckles clang to the ground, and then he joins them, crimson pooling from his crotch, a once-in-a-lifetime menstruation. The sixth one turns to run; I whip the rod at his legs, bending his right knee awkwardly and sending him to the floor. My blade dips in and out once more, and then I’m running at Mikelas, blade swept back, its dull side pressed against my forearm, my form exactly the same as twenty-four hours ago, only this is no dragon, just a dick about to lose one. He puts his hands out in front of himself, desperately backpedaling, feet stumbling in a mockery of grace.
“No, wait, pl—”
My palm slams into his jaw, the impact stinging my arm. His teeth smash together, cracking several, severing the tip of his tongue. The still-wriggling piece of flesh flies past my head in a shower of blood and spit. I hook his legs and push on his face, following him down to the ground. His nose splatters beneath my hand when we hit, the cartilage grinding and splintering even more, and I kneel into his sternum, ripping off his stupid tinted glasses.
“Pweesh,” he burbles, blood bubbling from his ruined nose, slurring his words. “Pweesh.”
“You stupid little maggot,” I breathe, voice trembling in rage, “you couldn’t just leave me alone, could you? Couldn’t believe that I might actually be this good at something, because I’m a girl.”
“Pweesh!” His eyes roll madly.
“No. I told you what would happen if you brought this into the real. Fuck you, Mikelas. You thought your dick made you a man? You’ll never be a man again.”
My blade dips one last time, and I slowly twist it through an entire revolution. He screams, a piercing sound, then passes out. I stand up to face the five hulking figures running from the other side of the bridge, and point my dagger at them. Blood drips off the edge in a steady patter. They stumble to a halt ten meters away, normally dead eyes now filled with an emotion they never thought to experience in themselves, only inflict on others.
Fear.
“Walk. The fuck. Away.”
Their weapons hit the concrete in a clattering rush, and then they’re gone. I wipe my blade on Mikelas’s shirt and sheathe it with a steady hand, then walk off the bridge, calm and collected, until I round the corner and the adrenaline fades. Half staggering, half sprinting, I find a bathroom, barely making it inside before puking. One of the sinks turns on, some sort of malfunction, but I’m not going to complain. Maybe the free water can wash away the sickness inside my mouth, my stomach, the warring sensations of guilt and pleasure.
I force my shaking hands back to stillness. I don’t have time to be weak. I can’t afford it.
Just another encounter.
Time to have a chat with Kiro.
9
[People Getting Disappeared]
“What the fuck, bro?”
Kiro’s face shrinks back in my glasses, the tidy neatness of his room visible in the background. He finally decided to answer after the fourth message request, and the waiting’s only made me more pissed. I continue my storming march through the corridors toward Johnny’s, avoiding a white-robed Preacher haranguing a gathered crowd. The last thing I need right now is to deal with that particular brand of sanctimonious bullshit.
“What… what’s wrong, Ash?”
“You told Mikelas and his group of shits where to find me, that’s what’s wrong. What the fuck were you thinking?”
People in the hallway look at me, but I snarl at them and they quickly turn away. I’m sure the bloodstains on the front of my hoodie help stanch their curiosity.
“They… they were just asking questions, Ash. Wanted to know more about me.” He picks a box up from his bed. “Look, they gave me this neat new piece of tech—”
“Kiro, you… you dumbass. What the hell do you think they were asking those questions for?”
“I don’t kn—”