Aleksey Savchenko - Cyberside

“ Shit she’s fast,” James mutters as he opens fire and advances steadily, gunning down targets as he marks them.

Confident now that Matilda can efficiently dispatch those threats closest at hand, Taciturn begins picking off the rattled, yelling reinforcements who are only just now starting to rally their forces.

In his peripheral combat-vision, Taciturn registers knives eagerly slicing into necks and bloodied, jacketed bodies thudding lifelessly to the hard-packed dirt. Taciturn picks off a rifleman trying vainly to get a bead on Matilda without harming his comrades. He puts a round through the wrist, and then neck, of a gate watchman trying to fumble some sort of radio to his lips. Taciturn’s bullets tear into chests, and data-blood mixes with dirt. The camp’s defenders barely comprehend what’s happening as more of their numbers fall to the ground. Nearly half of the encampment is down before the slavers seem to grasp that things are going badly for them. Their return fire is sporadic and poorly-aimed. Armed with archaic, standard rifles, these fighters pose little threat to a Taciturn and a Scry.

James activates a combat protocol which populates the immediate battleground with data. Before a bullet leaves the barrel of an enemy rifle, James sees its intended trajectory, his myriad defensive/cover options, and his potential retreats if needed. The number of cartridges left in magazines is superimposed over each hostile. Surveying the battlefield, James is confident. There are not enough combatants remaining to pose a threat.

A blur moves past Taciturn. Like a berserker, Matilda charges toward her next target. Refusing to evaluate the battlefield, the Scry uses sheer speed to run her prey to ground – her foes never stand a chance. Three steps forward, a combat roll, a quick push off the ground, and her knife slips into the small of a slaver’s back. James watches an irregular, cruel, and horrifying melee unfold before him. It’s clearly the fusion of multiple bounty hunters’ skills with her powers, and James is captivated by the gruesome sight of Matilda slicing her way through every slaver who finds himself within her reach.

A bullet whizzes past James’ face and hits the decrepit seam-welded wall behind him with a loud, metallic bang . James staggers and drops to one knee as another round sends his hat flying.

“Fucking idiot.”

Taciturn scrambles for cover. Scanning the bullet hole in the wall, he traces the trajectory back to a slaver hunched beside a rusting console on the main platform. He counts to three, rolls out from cover, finds his target and pulls the trigger. His would-be attacker tumbles lifelessly over the edge of the platform and falls out of Taciturn’s line of sight. There is a thick, wet, unseen thud that sounds like equal parts blood and dirt.

As the dust settles, the quiet weeping of the surviving captives gradually replaces the clamor of the battle. Surveying the carnage, James spots the Scry by the platform. Matilda wipes sand and blood off her face and calls over to him.

“Give me a sec. I need to collect my knives.”

Heading to the prisoner paddock, Taciturn breaks the lock on the gate and swings it open on its shrieking hinges.

“It’s all right. We’re not here to hurt you. You’re all free to leave, but I just need a few questions answered. Did anyone overhear where they were planning on taking you?”

He knows his words are falling on traumatized ears. The captives cower in the farthest corner of the pen. James closes his eyes and reprimands himself. Leaving at least one or two the slavers alive enough to answer questions would probably have been the right move. He looks around for Matilda.

“If we had just taken a moment to think— ”

A bloodied, malnourished woman warily approaches him from the huddled group in the corner.

“Thank… thank you.”

The Taciturn nods.

“Look, is there anything you overheard? Anything that could help?

Tears start to form in the woman’s eyes. “After they…” she stops and looks at the ground. “They said I’d fetch a ‘good price’… once I reached Babylon.”

James reaches into his bag for a handful of rations and approaches the woman. Slowly extending his hands, James waits for the woman to accept the small offering of food.

“Did they say anywhere in particular? Anything a little more specific?”

The woman continues to look at the ground but reaches for the food.

“One of the them said this was their big break. They were just waiting for some contract to finish, and they’d be transferred back to Donovan’s Tower.”

Nodding his head, James mumbles, “Thank you.”

Matilda approaches, wiping blood from a knife. Seemingly satisfied with its cleanliness, she sheaths the blade.

“So, is that where were going next?” pointing to the active portal on the platform. “Babylon, and this Tower?”

James shakes his head and steps away from the holding pen. The other prisoners, still huddled in the far corner, watch him warily.

“No. It’s too dangerous to go there like this.”

Picking up Taciturn’s hat, Matilda wiggles her finger through the bullet hole.

“What could be so dangerous?”

James doesn’t immediately answer. Babylon is a big place. The source could be from a myriad of potential threats, but there’s one in particular that concerns him.

“Not a ‘ what’ …” James mutters.

Matilda rolls her eyes.

“ Ugh. Okay. Who?”

James becomes aware of the humming from the transportation portal as he starts walking back to the platform.

“His name is Donovan Craze, and he’s the ruler of Babylon”.

Matilda steps over a body, tosses the hat aside, and follows the Taciturn.

“So, you know this guy.”

The humming grows louder, filling James’ head, vibrating the air. The sensation causes his hand to start clenching and unclenching.

“I do… I did. We used to work together, back in the real world.”

An unseemly excitement overcomes Matilda, and she springs forward.

“Oh, someone from your past. What’s he like?”

The unpleasant humming and vibration both increase, and Taciturn feels the slightly-unsteady urge to sit down. He looks down at the ground and sees Matilda’s reflection in a standing pool of data blood.

“Look, I’m going to go to work on the portal. It’s our ticket out of here, but I… I need a minute. How about you go back and check on those people. See if they need water or something.”

James doesn’t look up, but he can see Matilda’s concern in the reflection.

“Sure. If we don’t need the horses, maybe they can ride them out of here.”

Matilda starts to walk away, then turns around.

“Seriously, though – you all right?”

He looks up at her, digs for a package in one pocket, and pulls out a cigarette.

“I’m okay. Just need a minute.”

The concerned look on Matilda’s face slowly morphs into a sad smile.

“Okay, Gramps. I get it. Guess that was more exercise than you’ve had in a while.”

Taciturn grunts but waits until Matilda goes away before sitting down. Desperately, James takes a drag from the cigarette and tries to put his mind back together.

Donovan. Donovan fucking Craze .

James exhales a long, slow plume of smoke.

“Just my luck…”

As the portal’s buzzing continues, Taciturn closes his eyes. His mind wanders back. To a meeting that changed his life forever.

Yet another long night at the office, another dinner with the family missed. James waves to the security guards making their rounds of the nearly empty building. The red hue of the sky casts an otherworldly glow on his workstation. It’s almost beautiful – save for the fact that the light outside would burn his eyes, were it not for the protective film on the windows.