19

“We’re fucked, X,” I said.

“Agreed,” the limited AI said too quickly.

The non-Reaper’s getaway vehicle was a copy of the one Michaels and Olathe had used before their untimely deaths. It slowed to a normal speed and merged with traffic.

I ran after it, pushing myself to go faster and fighting through waves of pain and sickness. Glancing back at the diner, I saw more and more cops arriving along with ambulance crews. Before long, half the force would be tied up on the complicated investigation and crowd control.

I wondered if that had been intentional. My rival could've taken Elise himself but had watched and waited as the two locals made a botch of the job. Local law-enforcement and other emergency services were already overloaded, but now they wouldn’t be able to respond to anything else, and I had doubts this clusterfuck was anywhere near complete.

Byron raced through a twelve-lane intersection, electric engine humming, gears shifting aggressively. There was no way I could catch it on foot or even keep it in sight for much longer. My lungs felt like they were on fire and my heart pounded so forcefully, I could feel it. Spots danced in my vision that had nothing to do with malfunctioning nerve-ware.

A trash truck twice the size of the van slammed into it, driving it against a traffic light. Debris flew into the air, the effect compounded by trash spilling from the truck. The sound of the racket was truly amazing, drawing the attention of anyone who hadn't seen it happen.

“All of these vehicle collisions are going to ruin their traffic safety statistics,” X-37 observed.

Laughing hurt. I gasped for air. “True. What a tragedy. Two of their best local assassins also died today. What’s the galaxy coming to?”

Briggs and Crank bailed out of the trash truck, guns blazing as they advanced on the strange Reaper’s van. Briggs and Crank were both precision shooters with a method to their madness. In seconds, the engine block was destroyed, and smoke rose from the cab.

A figure that I assumed to be Byron rolled out of the back, sheathed in KFA, Killing Frenzy Armor. HDK slugs from Briggs and Crank whizzed over his head and punched holes in the van as he ducked down and moved quickly.

The KFA gear looked state-of-the-art despite being designed long before I was sentenced to death row and all of the other Reapers were eliminated. Pressure sensitive spikes and razors flicked in and out of wrist, elbow, and shoulder joints, discouraging anyone from grabbing the wearer.

The sight was intimidating as fuck, even for someone like me. No one in their right—or wrong, for that matter—mind would want to face a metal death demon from hell that couldn’t wait to kill every living thing it could touch. The face mask was a metal skull with glowing eyes and a bright light emitter where a third eye might be. Rumors of this last piece of war-fighting technology implied it could do incredible things, far more than read the environment. It made my single enhanced optic look like a child’s toy.

Briggs and Crank visibly hesitated at the sight of the sleek armor and chain gun the stranger carried. The Union spec ops commandos were elite soldiers who had seen it all and done it twice.

Or so they thought until about two seconds ago. They had come to eliminate a damaged and out-of-date Reaper, and now faced one that had newly constructed, perfectly functioning gear that was state-of-the-art. Their clear advantage in this gun battle had just vanished.

I had trained in the KFA and the MMG, mass murder gun, but never used them. The mask was new, something I’d never actually seen in action.

The MMG had been a running joke in the Reaper Corps mission briefings. One of us would bring up using it, and our handlers would always kill the suggestion. They’d never wanted to use what they called the nuclear option. Simulated terrorist attacks aside, gunning down crowds of people wasn't included in the Reaper SOP.

Slugs ricocheted off the KFA, barely leaving a scratch. The amazing thing about the armor was the extreme efficiency of the design. Lightweight and nearly indestructible, it could be used on long missions. Simple, elegant, and made with the best materials available to the Union, the KFA made the wearer slug-proof for a time—even at close range. There were internal force dampers that reduced the force transfer of bullets that didn’t penetrate.

“Warning, Reaper Cain. The rogue Reaper has two belt-fed MMG auto-cannons,” X-37 said. “You will be pleased to know he can’t operate the ROS and the KFA at the same time.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous. No one needs a two belt MMG,” I said, looking for a hole to crawl into. This shit was about to go south real fast.

No one moved as we regarded each other and the scene took on a surreal edge, calm despite the carnage around us. Then everything happened at once. Briggs, Crank, and the strange Reaper opened fire at the same moment. I moved ninety degrees from the ensuing gun battle to avoid getting shot dead by accident.

HDK rounds peppered the Reaper, the van, and everything near it. Rounds ricocheted off vehicles and buildings, whistling in all directions. Clouds of debris flew into the air, showering the street in shards of glass, pieces of street signs, and dust from the concrete buildings nearby.

At one point, I even saw a pink bobblehead doll through the air, remarkably untouched but still flung sideways by the turbulence of the passing slug.

At the same time, the MMG annihilated the trash truck as Briggs and Crank rushed away from it in search of better cover.

A round took Briggs in the chest, hurling him backward and probably ruining his body armor if it didn’t kill him outright. Seconds later, Crank took another round on his helmet that caused him to do a back flip and land prone, unable or unwilling to move.

Police, likely from the diner a few blocks away, arrived next, adding to the chaos.

The Reaper, Byron Thane, or whoever the fuck was in the KFA, opened fire on the cops. I couldn’t see what happened next because I was too busy taking my own cover, but it didn’t look good for the inadequately armed law enforcement.

The shooting stopped then and I peeked out just in time to see a gas grenade go flying in the air in the direction of the cops.

It exploded, filling the intersection with smoke and tear inducing gas.

I was already running for the van, coughing from the expanding cloud of smoke that helped carry the chemical agents. I’d seen a short window of opportunity. The gunfire stopped after Briggs and Crank went down and wouldn’t resume until more police arrived in a few seconds.

Yanking open the only functioning door of the van, I saw Elise staring back at me. Wide-eyed and tied up, she was speechless for once.

“I won’t let him take you,” I promised, climbing in.

She shook her head violently, squirming against her bonds to warn me my word was about to be tested.

I knew it. Of course I wouldn’t get this lucky.

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