A swarm of murderous insects buzzes my ear, and I close the circuit. A brief rattle, echoed from beside me, and the figure flips onto its back. Unmoving.
Just another encounter.
I turn my attention to the upper landing, one pincer of the trap hopefully dismantled. Jase stares at me, mouth gaping.
“Are… are you okay, Ash?”
Stinging hotness drips from my jaw, a new line of red flowing over the dried blood from earlier. I reach a hand up and touch ragged tears in my flesh.
“It’s just an ear. Mostly intact. Wait here.”
I take the stairs two at a time, stopping just below the next landing, beside Lieutenant Chaddington. He’s crouched beside the doorframe, an unmoving body sprawled halfway through. The lieutenant blindly sticks his pistol around the frame and fires until his trigger clicks, then leans back, breath heavy, helmet slightly askew. The body’s glassy eyes give me an inscrutable examination, no thoughts left to move them.
“Situation?”
Lieutenant Chaddington flinches, like someone stuck a jolter to his ass.
“Oh jeez, you scared me! Someone ambushed us, we were almost through and then, just… shit! Hazelton and Berkshire are down. The rest took cover in the room on the left. There was a lot of shooting. Hey, did you know your ear’s bleeding?”
No, I totally missed the part where a bullet tore through it, a couple centimeters from killing me, and oh yeah, the pain isn’t excruciating at all.
“Does the room have any exits?”
He pats at his pockets, searching for something.
“Uhh, no, I don’t think so.”
“Why isn’t your squad shooting?”
“They were before.”
He keeps patting at his pockets, becoming more and more frantic, gaze shifting like he’s forgotten something important and sheer willpower can change reality itself. Finally, he looks up at me.
“Do you have any ammo?”
I can’t help it. I put my palm over my face. A couple bullets zip through the doorway, just enough to let us know someone’s still watching.
“Holy. Shit. You forgot to grab extra ammo from the armory. That’s, like, literally lesson one of endgame. Let me guess, you each took the standard service weapon and two bundled mags from a ready locker, right?”
He nods miserably.
“Which, based on the volume of shots earlier, means the rest of your group is probably out of ammo as well, and trapped in a room with one way out. Gee fucking gee. How many attackers?”
“One? Maybe? It all happened so fast. This isn’t like basic at all.”
“For fuck’s sake. You didn’t even count?”
“It was dark, and there were people running, and, and and—”
“…Fine. It’s… Jesus. Fine. I’ll deal with it. Somehow.”
I pop my head out in a darting motion, then retract just as fast. A bullet whips past almost instantly, but I’m already back in cover. I note the impact mark. Good reflexes, good aim. Great. Probably one of the upper-tier guilds.
Fuck.
Hopefully not someone I know.
Focus. Wide corridor. Second body crumpled maybe a step out, reachable. Small alcoves equally spaced, alternating left and right. Enough room to shelter in, with an open door. Shooting gallery if the door’s closed. Gun barrel peeking around the far left corner of the hallway’s end, hugging the floor. Prone target.
I take a second to think, see the clues, the options. Another bullet hits the far wall, our unseen shooter prudent with pinning fire, the bullet pinging away with the higher pitch of a lighter caliber. My eyes fall on the corpse. It stares at me, not quite accusatory, not quite Brand’s empty sockets, but almost as if it knows what I’m considering. I give a mental shrug. No other way out that I can see.
“Pull that body over here.”
Lieutenant Chaddington looks at me like I told him to fuck his mother. With a needlefish. He’s obviously never had to deal with a psych-sec before.
“But that’s Berkshire!”
“It’s a corpse is what it is. Pull it over. There’s another one on top of its legs, you’ll need to make sure it gets pulled in too.” I don’t give him time to respond. “Slend. Up here. Jase, bring Wind.”
Slend kneels next to me, the other two a step lower, Jase starting to hyperventilate, Wind pawing at his chest.
Dammit, that’s right, she gets grabby when she’s drunk. Concussion’s hitting her the same way. She needs to recover soon, start contributing to the group. No time to deal with Jase learning about the birds and the pollination drones. I focus on Slend.
“You remember what we did in Gothica? In the Marquis’s castle?”
Skyler interrupts, grunting as he pulls on an arm.
“Oh, I remember that stream! You couldn’t use metal because of the Marquis’s anti–earth element barrier, but he had all those archers, so you… strapped dead goblins… to… as armor…”
The sounds of puking fill the stairwell, punctuated by another pinging impact on the wall. I ignore them, not relevant. None of the ricochets have hit us yet, so the random number generator’s still on our side. Slend nods.
“Good. You shield up. Once you’re ready, I’ll bounce across first, draw initial aggro. After the first shot, tank it. Stick to the right side, shooter’s on the left. As soon as you’re out, I’m firing. Take the doorway on the right and clear that room, it’s about four meters up the hall. Probably empty, but best to make sure. Once you’re in, if I’ve missed, take some shots.”
“Don’t miss.”
“I don’t plan to.” I turn back to the lieutenant. “How are we doing on those bodies?”
“I’ve…” He heaves, but nothing comes out. “I’ve got most of Berkshire over. I… it’s just… Berkshire. Hazelton. They’re heavy.”
“Yeah, no shit, it’s called dead weight for a reason. Here, move down with Jase and Wind, let Slend handle it.”
The lieutenant stumbles down the stairs, eyes red and unfocused. Slend lets her rifle hang from its strap, and grabs the body’s wrists. Grunting, she drags the corpse across the corrugated floor, cloth sliding over iron, her muscles dancing. A second head appears, half of its jaw missing, its arm draped over the first body’s boot. Slend pulls that one in as well, accompanied by another suppressing shot. We check both for ammo—empty—before rolling them facedown. Slend squats between them, gathering a fistful of fabric below their necks, and stands, her face tensing with effort, surging biceps lifting limp marionettes, their swaying forms awaiting the puppetmaster’s command.
“Moving.”
Just another encounter.
I sprint across the doorway, a shot pinging behind. Drop flat on my stomach, Slend charging out into the hall, more shots sounding off like popcorn. Bodies twitch and dance to kinetic tunes, sodden thumps and flying gore a grisly ballet, but Slend keeps her shields tight, and the flesh being ruined no longer has a mind to care. I sight down the hallway, tracking muzzle flashes through the three pairs of shifting feet, Slend twisting to shoulder open the door, bullets still pouring into the mangled lumps she holds, and I begin my exhale.
Triple crack. Triple crack.
Finish exhale.
The firing at the end of the hall stops, and I scan for movement. Nothing. Slend’s voice calls out from the room on the right.
“Clear.”
“Tango down,” I call back, still scanning the hallway. It remains static. Slend reappears in the doorway, her rifle ready. Movement at my side. The lieutenant.