Chapter 14- First Shift

  The drune drops the plate from the sky. I pull the trigger, shattering the ceramic and emptying the last bullet of the day. I put down the weapon, and the Andras begin tallying the scores.

  “Even with that cut, you don’t miss, do you?” Vikson pats and squeezes my shoulder.

  I pour him tea from the thermal bottle, the steam rising in the brisk winter air.

  “Just a scratch,” I reply. He hasn’t seen the stitches yet. The wound is still firmly covered from Qonni’s handiwork. “The velm was already broken before she punched it.”

  Velms break all the time, especially type B, worn out over the years of testing. I was extremely unfortunate that the one Qonni decided to smash had a dent. There’s no way her noodle arms can inflict such brutality.

  “A scratch deep enough for your classmates to propose a lawsuit?” Vikson laughs. He must’ve heard the details from Cerena.

  “The class hates her,” I explain. “They just want to see her suffer.”

  Andra tallies up our shots. Mine a perfect score, again. Vikson gives me a firm handshake, and we return to the craft. He sits across from me, his gaze follows the droids as they pack each weapon safely back into their case.

  “But you know why we can’t sue, right?” he prompts. “I mean, we certainly can, with those stitches and all, there’s definitely a case.”

  “It’s bad for consumer and investor confidence,” I answer. “Bad press.”

  “Right, and especially with that girl, Yun Qo Ni.” He sets aside the thermal and buckle in his seatbelt, preparing for takeoff. “After years of conflict with her father, I don’t want another Yun versus Lavoran case ever again. And how embarrassing will it be if they find the next generation bickering over a small quarrel?”

  I keep my eyes on the humming floor. “I didn’t plan to open a case. I just want to scare her a little.”

  “I saw,” he chuckles. “And you got a kiss out of it.”

  The cameras. I feel my face warm and shy from his smirk. I didn’t think Qonni would choose to kiss me over muttering a stupid word. But of course, I’m always wrong about her.

  “There’s nothing between you two, is there?” Vikson asks. “I saw she went down to your room. You two were in there for some time.”

  “Absolutely not,” I snap, then compose myself back in my seat. “Never.”

  “Don't be alarmed. I was only curious. You’re in your teenage years after all. But that’s good to know.”

  As much as I appreciate my uncle’s interest in my life, this subject isn’t one I like to share with him.

  “I—I stopped seeing any girls this year,” I admit. The graduating year is too important for me to mess around.

  Vikson scoots back in his seat. “There’s nothing wrong with getting a girlfriend, Raze. In fact, I encourage it. Maybe then you’ll finally stop rotting in the headquarters with us and…have a life of your own.”

  The craft flies over the early winter scenery of naked trees and dead grass, then yields, and we hover over the landing pad, the trees and forestry skews violently against the direction of our vehicle.

  “You can date any girl you want, as many as you want, for all I care,” he continues. “Anyone except for Yun Qo Ni, understand?”

  I nod in assent. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not seeking any girls at the moment.”

  “Did someone break your heart so much you avoided them entirely?” he teases, and unbuckles from his seat.

  I scoff. “I didn’t like any of them like that.” I catch myself. “I mean, they’re nice girls. Smart. You’ll like them.” But I wouldn’t bring them home or introduce them to Ama. “I just never developed any feelings for them.”

  The door cranks open, and he heads down the stairs. I follow him out.

  “There’s nothing wrong with loving a girl,” he says. “Just be certain she’s the right girl. Or love will drive you crazy. Make you irrational, illogical.”

  I’ve always been careful around the girls I let into my bed. I always warn them I’m not looking for anything serious the second I agree to a date. I take them to a nice restaurant for dinner, then to a hotel suite, and have a good time. I enjoy their company, and maybe mess around; it’s as deep as the fun goes. In the morning, they get upset when they realize sex won’t change my mind, and run their mouths. But that only prompts other girls to challenge that boundary.

  “Love…isn’t for me,” I finally reply. “I’d rather focus on my career. Like you.”

  Vikson raises a brow with a half smile, as if he knows something I don’t. “Glad to know your priorities.”

  *

  I sit in Dr. Breena’s booth. Andra serves me my breakfast—fried dough with soy milk—and Vikson his tea with a side of Baju.

  The cut on my face makes it hard to speak, let alone chew, robbing me of any appetite. For the first time since its existence, I never thought a SEM pill would come in handy. Too bad they’re not on shelves yet, nor has Vikson’s team been fruitful with reproducing it. The only thing they learned from her research is a new foreign substance they’ve never seen before. Unless they can get their hands on it, the pill will be hard to recreate.

  Vikson is still reading her booklet across from me, with piles of sticky notes on the sides. If only Qonni knew how much they praise her in this room.

  Dr. Breena comes to greet us after setting up for the day. She notes the bandage on my face.

  “Got into a fight?” she asks, casually, as if it’s a common occurrence. “Did you win?”

  “Don’t ask,” I grumble.

  Vikson chuckles. “He got beaten up by a girl.”

  “Aw, did he reject another girl? What did I say about letting them down gently?” Dr. Breena bends down to take a closer examination of my cut, her emerald eyes bulging from her circle lenses. But my stitches are completely sealed off, so she leaves me alone. “Why don’t you just get a girlfriend so you don’t have to sit around with us old folks?”

  “That’s what I said,” Vikson adds. “It’s his fun years. No responsibilities, but he wants to focus on his career.”

  “Gosh, kids these days are so eager to grow up.”

  “I’m eighteen,” I say. “I’m not a kid.”

  The doctor bursts out laughing; the other staff in the room giggle. Vikson grins.

  “You all did crazy stuff when you were my age,” I mumble. However, they were mainly impossible triumphs. Vikson created a model architect that defied the laws of physics, which later proved to be an additional law. Dr. Breena engineered a robot that predicted tectonic plate movements months before shifts. Qonni, the girl I grew up with, made a pill that can possibly end world hunger. And I can’t patch up my own injury without help.

  “Everyone walks a different path in life,” Vikson says and closes the research booklet. “Though other paths might seem fun, you’ll walk faster in your own lane, and you might discover roads only you can walk.”

  Dr. Breena’s lobby is as busy as it can get today. Staff pacing back and forth, files in hand, stealing Vikson’s attention the moment he stands from the booth. After weeks of planning, we will launch the first operation to catch the culprit tonight.

  When Vikson agreed to hear me out, I worked all night without sleep to deliver a presentation to him the next morning. On a topography of the Void, I marked all fifteen of Lotus properties with red pins—the seven demolished properties, including the mall, with blue.

  “There are no detectable patterns to these attacks,” I had said. We named the suspect Nox. “So we’ll assume he or she will target one of these buildings. So I propose we set up cameras inside these buildings. Learn more about this dangerous individual before we make our move. Find out who they’re working for, and—or—better yet, their motive.”

  Vikson liked my plan—half of it, at least. He claims my methods took too long, especially when our culprit attacks once every two to three months. He wants him the next time our suspect ventures out, catching him by surprise. So instead of cameras, he swaps them out with men.

  “Cameras don’t detain men,” Vikson explained. “Men do.”

  And it’s not just any men he’s referring to—contract killers.

  Dr. Breena dims the light, the screen brightens, showcasing over a hundred profiles across the wall. All the available men for hire from Mythic Agency. The company is known for its security hires. Lotus and my family have been employing them since the agency's inception. Trained and experienced.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  These men on the screen are better than that; they’re veterans from Bowen’s military with impressive and intimidating kill counts. It doesn’t specify whether they’re recorded from Infectants or humans. Vikson also hires them for his energy extraction operations. They’re tasked with keeping the extraction team and personnel safe from the dangers of the Void—hostile Infectants and wildlife. Mostly to execute those who try to follow the team into the Void to learn the energy site’s secrets.

  For the rest of the day, I watch Dr. Breena and my uncle examine each individual. Their headshots blast up on the screen along with their aliases. Their true identities are protected, and they adhere to the company's policy of not revealing more than their faces. So we don’t know their age or background, only the statistics of their resume—kill count, height, and weight.

  They all look rough and scarred with the same vacantness in their eyes—nothing but killing machines.

  “All that to catch one guy?” I whisper to Vikson. “I mean, how much are they?”

  “Nothing we can’t afford,” he whispers back. “We might be dealing with a cybernetic individual who dwells in the Abyss. You know how cunning those guys are. They’re as dangerous as these hired guns. Perhaps even more.”

  There’s another screen, a live footage from Ofeno police station, where they’re ready to set out into the Void. Geared up, velms on, motors filled up, and assault rifles on their back. They’ll go in pairs into each property and secure the perimeters until morning when they change shifts—a 24-hour watch. If you ask me, that’s too many resources for one person, but it seems like there’s nothing Vikson won’t spare to catch the culprit.

  He wants the person from the footage. And I want to be the one who delivers it to him on a silver platter.

  “Do you think they’re a better shot than me?” I ask out of the blue.

  “The veterans?” Vikson blinks and takes a thoughtful second to answer, “I think you’re the best shot I’ve ever seen.”

  I take a deep breath. “Is that enough for me to join this operation?”

  He scans me up and down and doesn’t answer.

  *

  Of course, my precision alone isn’t enough to persuade Vikson to risk my life out in the Void. But he also isn’t completely set on his decision; he needs a little more convincing. So for the next two to three weeks, I spend my free time with some of the hires, skirmishing and sparring until I can take down five different men of the same stature.

  Even after Vikson convinces me to join the operation, he still keeps me on a tight leash. One shift a week is all he allows for me, which is more than I hoped for; I’ll seize any opportunity to prove my worth. He says it’s to broaden my life experience, but according to Dr. Breena, not a single rat crawled across the sites the last two weeks, let alone a whole person, deeming it safe for me to roam.

  My first shift starts tonight, a full twelve hours in the Void. My school assignments are completed, and there are no classes the next morning.

  I arrive at the Ofeno police station an hour before the departure. The closest base that connects to Lotus HQ from the Grand Wall. They assigned me a locker for my gear and military-grade attire. Thermal long sleeve that hugs my body flexibly. Charcoal cargo pants and an all-weather coat with countless compartments and straps. High boots and gloves for the environment, since I’ll be outdoors for most of the night.

  The staff supplies me with a variety of weapons, grenades, a hunter knife, a flare gun, pistols, a baton, and an assault rifle. By the time they’re all strapped onto my body, I can hardly shift without feeling their weight.

  Lastly, the military grade Velm. Type C. Heavy and bulletproof. I tested this model last year in the Arena, so I’m familiar with every function—night and thermal vision, focus-zoom. The cold band wraps around my entire neck for stability. When unfurled, the panoramic screen covers nothing in my vision. As I glance at my reflection in the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself; my entire face is concealed, and the bulky gears bloat my physique.

  Ready for a war.

  I leave the lockers and join the rest of the hires out by the loading dock, awaiting their motors. When the system syncs with my chip, it welcomes me with my Alias: Lynx. Right. No one knows who I am. To everyone else here, I’m just another gun for hire. Though I can’t see their faces, my screen shows them all as we share the same system; their aliases pop up in green. Every velm has a static red dot on the left side of their head, recording the night in case something happens.

  Someone clasps a firm hand on my shoulder. I crank my neck to see his tag. Griffin.

  “Hey,” he greets. His voice was low and muffled under his velm. “Lynx, right? We’re partners tonight.”

  *

  The drive into the Void is rocky and daunting. Even with night vision on, the dark eats away the majority. Though this isn't my first venture, the air feels heavier knowing the culprit is at large.

  The last of the sunlight leaves the sky by the time we park at the University’s entrance. A location Vikson feels comfortable putting me in. This property is the closest to the city, roughly a 30-minute drive at max speed, giving us a pinch of communication. I can see the faint high-rises of the brightly lit Aquarium from here.

  The two guys from the day shift bid us farewell and drove away.

  Griffin shuts off his motor and gives me a tour of the patrolling route. We trek through the overgrown grass and weeds, licking our chins and devouring us in the field. There are five separate buildings on campus, all suffocating under the woven ivy and vines. Our knives are out, slicing through the thicket as we try to get across.

  “I cut these a few days ago,” Griffin grumbles. “Made a path and all, but they just regrow.”

  We enter the science building. The coldness remains the same inside and out. Most windows in the classrooms are either buried with dirt or shattered entirely. The desk and tables were swept to one corner, as if they had survived countless storms.

  I switch to a pistol in the halls in case our culprit decides to be funny. But according to Griffin, no one has wasted a single bullet since the operation began. All the reports come back blank, no disturbance, no shadows, nothing but the whistles of the vacant winds.

  Still, this is my only shift this week, and I won’t have another one until next week, so I’m still determined to bring back anything for Vikson. Keeping an eye around me. Our suspect can be anywhere—hidden in these dark corners of the building, under the cover of the dead weeds outside. I switch between thermal to sense any bodily heat, scanning the perimeters wherever Griffin takes me.

  Griffin snorts at me a few times. “You can relax. If the intruder is in the Void, they won’t come here. They’ll probably loot retail stores or something.”

  Vikson hasn't disclosed Nox to the agency or any of the hires, nor the footage I found at the mall. The only orders are to patrol the grounds and detain any intruders. So Griffin and the rest of the hires are expecting hoodlums and rebels from the outer cities.

  After the tour finishes, Griffin guides me up to the roof in the main building, the tallest one, sitting in the middle of the establishment, giving us the full view of the campus.

  He uncovers his face, something we’re not supposed to do to keep the footage running. His long, tangled hair curtains just above his jaw as he lights up a cigarette. He offers me one. I decline.

  “We’ll rest for now, and do another lap in an hour.” He sets his AR down beside him.

  We’ve barely been here an hour, so I’m not too comfortable sitting for now.

  “I'll circle one more time myself,” I say, “and get familiar with the area.”

  His brows raise as he takes a drag. The dim light reveals a scar on his left jaw like someone gave him an uppercut with a knife. There’s also a slight droop to his right eye, like his face has melted. From a fight or some neurotic disorder? I can’t get myself to ask just yet. “Suit yourself,” he says.

  When I returned from another fruitless lap, Griffin got himself a wooden chair from one of the classrooms, one for me, too. A metal trash can sits between us, set ablaze with voracious fire, illuminating the roof. Though it's a fire hazard and a warning to our culprit if he does come to turn around, I gravitate towards the warmth. The cold nights are cutting through my layers.

  I sit and furl my velm for a bit, just until my cheeks are warm again.

  The fire brings light to Griffin’s profile, deepening the harsh lines in his contours. I recall his profile; he’s one of the men who has over a hundred body counts. I feel slightly intimidated, and at the same time, impressed. Whoever our culprit is, they are definitely not prepared for Griffin.

  *

  When midnight rolls around, I’ve completed ten unproductive laps, learning the shortcuts in my routes. My early ambition died from hunger and boredom. Exhaustion is also creeping up on me since we passed my usual bedtime. I return to the roof with two energy drinks, one for Griffin.

  “You’re right,” I admit, and sink into my wobbly chair, letting the warmth engulf me. “It’ll be another quiet night.”

  I sip on my drink and throw my head back at the clear night sky. Unpolluted, with a new moon, stars flood my vision. I’ve been so cooped up in my studio the last few weeks—months, even—I forgot just how vast the world is compared to my little problems.

  Twines are out tonight, this month’s constellation. Twelve star points on either side that connect like two wings. A sign of liberation.

  I can enjoy this view for the rest of the night, but Griffin’s panels are flickering in my peripherals. He’s answering another long text. His alerts have been buzzing ever since we arrived. Perhaps he has another job or is very popular in his personal life. I steal another glimpse, it's all sent from someone called Danita with a heart beside her name.

  “The mistress?” I ask, making conversation. I keep my nose far from anyone’s private life, but Griffin doesn’t bother hiding the messages, and there’s nothing else to do.

  “Girlfriend,” he says, eyes glued to his screen. “For now, at least. Maybe a few more months of sitting around this shift, I’ll have enough for a ring.”

  Girlfriend? Griffin looks as if he’s at least forty with a wife and two kids. He has an unshaved beard and dark bags under his eyes. After a few more exchanges, I learned that this man is only 28. From the way he’s burning each cigarette with the unspeakable things he’s done, it must’ve taken a toll on his appearance.

  I pray whatever life has in store for me won’t be half as bad as his.

  “She thinks I’m seeing other women,” he explains after hitting send. “Night shift and my lack of response, it's hard to blame her. So I do my best to reassure her, but it’s not enough.”

  What a nightmare.

  “Have you guys been together for long?” I ask. It’s the only explanation, really.

  “We met shortly after my service in Khan Cin.” He smiles faintly, his eyes unfocused, deep into the memory.

  “South Bowen? You’re far from home.”

  “Yeah, her father didn’t really approve of me, being a Carrier and all, and she’s not. He says I’ll kill her. You know how they get, all jittery since we don’t follow the same protocols. So I took his daughter and ran as far as we could, to a place where no one would find us. And we’re here now.”

  “Sounds romantic.”

  He laughs. “At first. But her father’s right. I didn’t know how hard it was to keep her safe. If I bring home a single bad cell on my clothes, forget to change the filter, or make one small mistake, I’ll lose her. I make sure I’m drenched in sterilizer before coming home. Especially now, with this job in the Void, high-risk infections. I only see her on days I’m off. So you can see why she’s all anxious.”

  Out of all the people I met, I didn't expect to like someone like Griffin. He’s more friendly than I imagined. It’s against the agency’s policy for us to ask about each other’s personal lives, but no policy prevents us from sharing. And Griffin is an oversharer like a newly divorced, drunk man at a bar who can’t stop talking about his wife. No matter how we steer the conversation, it always pivots to Danita. Her age, her food taste, her menstrual cycle, at this point, I know more about her than my own father.

  We eat our packaged rations after another pointless lap. Pork buns and rice, and a hard food bar that looks and tastes like bar soap made from a haystack, but packed with enough calories to keep us charged for the rest of the shift. The average military meal.

  For the next hour, we sit in silence, watching the moon float a centimeter to the right in the sky. A static buzzes in my ear, immediately followed by a piercing scream that makes the two of us jump.

  “What the fuck?” Griffin exclaims, shooting up from his seat. Gunfire and shouts cut in and out of the line for the next few minutes, and neither of us can make sense of what’s happening.

  Then silence. “Hello?”

  Another minute later, we receive another message that can’t be any clearer.

  “An intruder—”

  The line cuts.