I sprint forward, element of surprise gone, but no one else appears, and then I’m at the stairwell. More gunfire echoes from above, harsher, longer, angrier bursts, the uncontrolled spraying of novice operators. I slap a new magazine into the rifle, old one clattering behind, trying not to think about the dead boy with three craters in his chest, eyes blank, body tossed like a rag doll. Slend can upgrade her weapon now, more loot for the group.
Slowly ascend the stairway, Slend next to me, rolling my boots onto the wireframe metal steps, staying as silent as possible, my sights scanning the spaces above. The echoing gunfire increases in intensity, nearly on top of us. I round the first landing—nothing. Continue our slow creep. Second landing—two figures lying on the stairs, maintaining the smallest profile possible, backs to us, firing out in economical bursts, slapdash clothes thrown on over black hapsuits. A constant deluge of bullets whines and spangs into the walls around them, none seeming particularly aimed. Neither of the figures flinches, or even makes a sound.
I take out the one on the left, Slend the one on the right, a brief twitch their only recognition of death, our shots blending in with the general racket. I ignore the stench of voided bowels, the tang of fresh blood, the heavy way Slend’s throat moves as she swallows. We deftly frisk them, pocketing several full magazines, not meeting each other’s eyes.
Just another encounter.
Gradually, with no return fire, the wild shooting up top halts. A couple of short cheers echo down the stairwell.
“Hey!” I call out, taking a chance. “Who’s there?”
The self-congratulating stops. A nervous voice responds.
“CCA Border Patrol! Who’re you?”
“Friendlies, under Sawyer.”
“…Miss Ashura?”
“…Lieutenant Chaddington?”
I move to the second landing, carefully peering around the corner. A bloodied group of BP soldiers stares back at me from around the edges of the hallway doorframes, maybe eight in total, gun barrels all aimed in my direction, most twitching in spasmodic jerks.
Please don’t fucking grief me.
No one shoots, and I release a breath, taking in the rest of the scene. Several bodies lie out in the open, twisted in the origami of violent death, long stains on the walls a deeper shade of crimson. One of the soldiers steps out and waves, pistol in hand, directing the others to lower their weapons.
“It is you! Where’d you learn how to use a gun?”
I roll my eyes and motion for Slend to stay put, keep watch on the stairs, and then I walk over to the lieutenant. We duck inside what looks like a small classroom.
“Yes, Sky, it’s me. What’s the situation?”
He fumbles to check his pistol’s ammo, then slides the magazine back home. I wonder if he even saw it, his adrenaline-enlarged eyes never leaving my face.
“Someone suicided a fucking—excuse my language—plane into us. Took out the command uplink. Our entire cloud’s offline! You know as much as I do at this point.”
“Sawyer?”
“Dunno. We were on our way to check when we got pinned down here. I lost—” His throat bobs, posture momentarily stiffening. “—lost five of my people. We got ambushed coming from the armory, got trapped in this hallway. It was a shooting range for them.”
“Is the armory still secure?”
“Was when we left, but who knows now.” He shakes his head. “What the hell is going on? Those don’t look like silkie troops. And what are you doing here again?”
I think about trying to explain to him that he’s fighting local Gamers, trapped in a quasi-reality they think is just another encounter, commanded by an as yet unknown force lurking within the corporate veil of WGSK, which may or may not lead the entire planet into another radioactive war, and that my Game guild has been dragooned into foiling their nefarious plans by his government’s unofficial spymaster.
Yeah, no.
“We need to find Sawyer. What’s the quickest way to his office?”
He twitches his hapgloved fingers like he’s summoning a waypoint, then scowls.
“Of course. Cloud’s down. It’s… up another two flights, left at the end of the hallway, one of the doors on the right.”
“Thanks.”
I turn to leave. He grabs my sleeve. I suppress my initial reaction to drop him.
“Wait, you’re just going by yourself? Miss Ashura, it’s dangerous out there. I can’t let you do that. This isn’t like the Game.”
No, you idiot, it’s exactly like the Game, and that’s the problem.
“It’s just another encounter.”
Skyler looks at me.
“What was that?”
Stop thinking with your dick and get out of my way.
“If it makes you feel better, your squad can take point. Have they trained in CQB? Room clearing? Dynamic entry? Studied Fairbairn at all?”
He lets go and fiddles with his pistol.
“We had some lessons in basic. All of us here are mainly in charge of surveillance drones, though.”
I try not to sigh. Surveillance drones, while requiring a high degree of skill to operate effectively, don’t translate their inputs to much more than patience and an occasional vigorous wrist roll, and Sky’s “lessons” were likely forgotten as soon as he graduated, no matter how keen he is on following regulations.
Fucking newbies.
“I’m sure it’ll all come back to you. C’mon, let’s go. We’ve gotta keep moving.”
I leave him behind to get his people ready and head back to Slend and the others.
“Plan?”
“This group’s gonna show us where Sawyer’s at. Odds are good they’ll shit themselves again if there’s another encounter. Stay in the back, stay low.”
“Meatshields.”
I’m about to nod when I realize what we’re actually saying. Slend arrives at the same understanding a second later. We stare at each other for a long moment.
“Shit.”
“Yeah. No respawns this time. Do your best to cover them if you can. I’ll take right side.”
“Yup.”
“Hey, Jase?”
He looks up at me from the lower landing, Wind still leaning on his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“We’re gonna be moving up, following a group of soldiers. Stay behind us, and don’t leave cover unless we tell you to.”
“So exactly what I’ve already been doing. Thanks, Sun Tzu.”
“Just trying to keep you alive. You’re welcome.”
He flips a rude gesture at me, and I hold down a grin. We’re in a bad spot, but Brand never liked being told what to do either.
Keep it together. Brand’s dead, and you could easily be next.
Lieutenant Chaddington and his people come clattering into the stairwell, bunching up behind each other, some trying to look in all directions at once, others tunneling in to a single spot with fevered intensity. My lips tighten. Sky gets them into two ragged lines and they funnel up to the next landing, gun barrels bristling like a frightened porcupine’s quills, frequently crossing each other’s field of fire. I shake my head and follow, Slend on my left hip.
No one shoots at us, and up they go again, an ungainly centipede. I motion to Slend, pointing at the corridor they didn’t bother clearing. She nods, and kneels behind the wall, rifle steady, both of us covering our rear. I beckon for Jase—he starts climbing, Wind stumbling after, and then everything happens all at once.
Screams and gunfire erupt from above, some of the former mercilessly cut short by the latter. A sudden figure at the end of the hallway, loping toward us, angular shape raised to its shoulder. I squint down my sights—is it wearing a uniform? My own finger tightening on the trigger, slowly, not yet at the hair’s width separating life and death.