John Krygelski - The Aegis Solution

The tallest of the four, the top of his head covered with a black stocking, declared, “This is where you stop.”

Elias took a brief moment to size up the stranger and his three accomplices before speaking. “Why is that?”

The young man shook his head as if Elias had asked him a foolish question. “Cuz this is where you decide.”

“Decide? What?”

The leader had obviously expected the newcomer to be frightened. Since he did not hear a satisfactory level of fear in Elias’ voice, he took a step forward, clearly intended to intimidate, and menaced, “Whether you belong to us or die.”

As the man spoke, Elias heard a shuffling from behind and glanced over his shoulder to see that two more punks had approached. They had, no doubt, been hiding behind one of the closed doors he had passed. He was now surrounded.

Turning his head back to the front, Elias also took a step forward, bringing himself within inches of the apparent leader, and while staring directly into those dull eyes, in a low and steady voice answered, “I don’t think so.”

Angered by the response, the leader bit his lower lip for a moment before barking out, “What you mean, you don’t think so? You don’t have a choice!”

Elias grinned at him, his expression anything but mirthful. “But you said it was my decision. I’ve decided to keep walking.”

He took a quick side step, and the leader moved to block him. Expecting this, in a series of movements which were almost a blur, Elias dropped his suitcase and reached up to grip the front of the stranger’s shirt while pulling the 9mm from his pocket. He jammed the barrel of the pistol into the neck of the leader and ordered, “Tell your other punks to walk away.”

The tall one’s eyes showed white all the way around the irises as the reality of his predicament sunk in. But before he could speak, a gunshot rang out in the corridor, and Elias felt the body of the one he had thought was the leader go limp. Almost instantly, the thug’s shirt blossomed with blood. Elias released his grip, allowing the stranger to drop limply to the floor, and looked around to see that all of the others had pistols drawn, all aiming at him.

From his detached perspective, Elias pondered the foolishness of their positioning as the five remaining young men stood in a circle, guns drawn; their clear intent was to aim at him, but their unacknowledged result was to have drawn a bead on each other, with only the bullet-stopping ability of his body as the buffer.

Elias was not sure if he was witnessing the field promotion of the former second-in-command or if the youth now dead at his feet had ever been the leader, but another member of this small gang stepped forward, his only true distinguishing characteristic being that he was the widest among them. From his position and the direction of the shot which had taken out the tall one, Elias realized that this was the thug who had fired. Taking care to not place himself within Elias’ reach, he halted and threatened, “Drop the gun or die.”

Elias slowly bent forward, and gently placed the Beretta on the concrete. He then straightened, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

“Kick it away.”

Placing the side of his right foot against the pistol, Elias slid it to his side, toward the wall on his right.

His eyes never leaving those of the gang leader, Elias asked, “What’s this about?”

The slightest smile curled one corner of the thug’s mouth as he said, “I got no problem explainin’. Every place needs jack…money…even this place.”

“I didn’t bring any,” Elias answered, his tone conversational, as if he were oblivious to the fact that he had five guns, in the hands of obvious amateurs, aimed directly at him.

The smile spread on the face of the thug and he shook his head hard, as though he were trying to dry his hair. “You don’t get it, dude. In here the currency is you.”

As he heard this, the second piece of the Aegis puzzle fell into place for Elias. In the anarchy which would prevail within these walls, paper money would be essentially worthless. Yet every society, even the most chaotic, would need a medium of exchange. It would have to hold an intrinsic value. With a steady stream of people walking through the front door, the obvious choice would be slavery.

Elias shrugged. “Okay. I understand. I’m all yours.”

The caricature of a smile left the wide youth’s face. “I don’t think so.”

His eyes darted down to the pistol on the floor, then back to Elias, before he said, “You gonna be too much trouble. Nobody gonna want you.”

The thug, speaking to the two standing behind, said, “Unless you want to take a bullet, you better move your asses.”

Elias heard the scuffling of feet behind him but did not dare to look over his shoulder, deciding to keep his eyes on the young man in front of him. When the sound from the rear stopped, the youth lifted his gun up and pointed it directly at Elias’ forehead. Elias recognized it as a .357 magnum, and his mind calmly ran through the firing characteristics of the weapon, knowing that within moments his head would be vaporized. In an almost detached way, he observed the shooter’s thumb pull back the hammer.

With nothing to lose, Elias ducked under the revolver and plunged forward, hoping to overtake his executioner in time. The thug was quicker to respond than Elias hoped, and he felt the butt of the heavy pistol slam into the top of his head. Instantly, his legs crumbled beneath him and he fell to the concrete floor. Somehow he managed to retain a feeble grip on consciousness and, as he fell, rolled to the right.

He now lay on his back, at the feet of the thug, who took a step forward. “See, I told you, you’re too much trouble.”

The punk obviously knew enough about ballistics to understand that if he shot Elias in the head in this position, the .357 slug would ricochet off the concrete. He aimed at the part of Elias’ body which would provide the most resistance to the bullet, the chest, and again steadied for the kill shot. Elias had deliberately fallen to place himself within arm’s length of his 9mm, but his mind could not come up with a scenario where he could grab the weapon, aim, and discharge it before the thug could pull the trigger.

Although there was more than adequate light, Elias only saw a dark blur suddenly sweep into his field of vision. The fast-moving phantom, or whatever it was, collided with the punk standing over Elias, causing the pistol to fly from his grip and clatter to the floor, followed immediately by the thug himself, who collapsed facedown.

Even though he had no idea who or what attacked the new leader, Elias took advantage of the sudden distraction to grab his pistol and roll against the wall, bringing the barrel up to bear on the nearest of the other thugs. A split second before applying enough pressure on the trigger to discharge the 9mm, Elias relaxed his finger, seeing that there was no need to fire. The other gang members were running headlong down the side corridor, already almost fifty yards away.

As he shifted his weight and got to his feet, Elias looked around for the source of intervention which had saved his life, but the area around him was empty except for the two motionless thugs at his feet. He tucked the 9mm back into his pocket and reached down to check for a neck pulse on them both and, although not expecting to find one on the first punk who took a .357 slug to the chest, was surprised to discover that the other gang member was also dead. It did not require the skills of a medical examiner to determine that his neck had been broken.

With a final glance around, Elias picked up his suitcase and resumed walking toward the center hub of the complex.