CHAPTER 7
Nick immediately realized that they weren’t going to shoot their way out of this situation. Not right away, at any rate.
Both the dolls and the humans must have modded neural links, or else the Archangels would have shut them down instantly. That didn’t mean they were invulnerable, but without access through the security bands, the Mark 1s were reliant on physical means.
The bombs were the real problem. There was no visible detonator. They had to be connected to the bomber’s neural implant.
“Don’t make any rash decisions. With only a thought, I’ll take all of you with us, you corpo pigs,” the bomber said, his voice glitching out due to some sort of filter.
“That’s not really the greatest threat,” Nick said. “You kill me, and you’re dead. The Archangels can be restored from backups. You can’t be.”
“I guess that works out well for all of us, because you’re the one we want, Wraith.”
Nick blinked.
What had they called him?
“Uh, who?” he asked, looking around.
The Mark 1s didn’t look at him. He kind of wished that Chloe was here, as he suspected she might retain the presence of mind to engage in banter. Although his nerves were on fire, he was significantly less worried than he should be.
He’d long since lost count of the number of times people had threatened to kill him. Chloe had pointed a gun at him two nights ago, and the military had been close to shooting him more than once. To say nothing of all his run-ins with shady characters in the mean streets of Babylon.
“You,” the bomber said, pointing at Nick. “Don’t play dumb. You’re the invisible Cipher. We’ve read all about you. And you’re going to give me the data you pulled off those security dolls.”
Nick resisted the urge to cover his face. Cringey nicknames weren’t really a thing in real Cipher circles. Anonymity was kind of a joke these days, and internet handles were paper-thin. So most Ciphers either used their real name or an autogenerated name.
After all, calling yourself the Emperor and trying to start some sort of cyber cult to fight the corrupt government sounded great. Right up until everybody found out his name was Roger Blandstein, and that he was a trust fund kiddie living in his parents’ mansion.
“Why would you even want the data?” Nick asked, although he already knew the answer. “Where’d you get the fancy neural mods, by the way? Your buddies a couple days ago didn’t have them when they tried to blow up the stations. Or was that one of the other dozen anti-Spires groups?”
“We’re the only one that matters,” the bomber snapped.
Before he could continue, the SMG-toting gunman grabbed his shoulder. “Drop it, man. He’s corpo.”
Nick took the insult as a badge of pride. When he started doing jobs for fly-by-night mobsters, the idea that he could have worked for a real corporation was a great joke.
“Past incidents identify them as likely members of the Neuron Liberation Front,” one of the Mark 1s said suddenly.
“Are they the same as the Neural Liberation Front?” Nick asked.
“No.”
“Fuck you,” the bomber said. “I can’t believe you’re working with the fucking dream eaters.”
“Do I know you?”
“Hell no. But I thought I knew you.”
Why? Nick left the question unsaid.
He got the impression he was dealing with a kid, or somebody close enough in mental age to one. “You’re not giving me a great reason to cooperate. If you were involved in the raid on Tartarus, how do I know you won’t just blow everything up anyway?”
The gunman stepped forward this time, and the bomber grumbled as he turned to the side. Fingers tightened on triggers as the Archangels debated opening fire.
“Give us a copy of the data dump from one of the dolls, and we’re out of your hair,” the gunman said. His voice synthesizer was higher quality than the other guy’s. “No explosions. No fried neural implants. Nobody dies.”
“That doesn’t help me.”
“Living does.”
The gunman seemed either older, or at least had some actual life experience. Maybe that was why he hadn’t strapped himself with explosives.
Nick pretended to think over the offer, tapping his gun against the side of his leg. He was careful not to look at any of the doors.
Although these clowns had knocked out the neural link and the security dolls, there was zero chance they could cut off the Archangels. Chloe and the others knew what was happening right now.
Given the lack of gunfire outside, was there another team of these idiots out there? Or was Chloe waiting for an opening?
Or, better yet, did she have something else up her sleeve?
Nick didn’t have a damn clue. But he knew that handing over the data would be a mistake. For whatever reason, these clowns hadn’t extracted it themselves. If they were Ciphers, they were shitty ones. Which meant they would likely transmit the data to somebody else the moment Nick handed it over.
So buying time by transferring them the data was a mistake. Or was it?
He really wished he had some way to communicate with the dolls. An earpiece would be a start. They made really tiny ones these days.
“I can transfer you the data dump, but I don’t have an implant.” Nick tapped the side of his head. “The fastest way is that one of the Archangels transfers it.”
“I’m not letting one of them anywhere near my fucking implant.” The gunman raised a hand.
But then the bomber cut in, “Idiot, we have a secure transfer protocol for a reason. It’s a virtual dead drop. I’ll do it. Load it up, and we can all fuck off. Nice and easy.”
“Al—Man, that’s fucking dumb. Don’t do this.” The gunman grabbed his accomplice, but was shrugged off.
The eyes of the Mark 1s flashed, but they remained as they were. Their guns never wavered from the would-be revolutionaries.
Nick slow-walked over to the terminal, careful not to let anyone out of his sight. When he sat down, he pulled out his phone. The neural link was still down, so he’d need to use one of the cables in the side panel.
Several messages blinked on his phone. For a moment, his heart stopped. His phone hadn’t been on silent, how—
Then he saw that it was on silent. Chloe or the Mark 3s must have changed the setting remotely.
The messages were from Chloe. Nick read them while opening up the panel and pulling out a cable.
“What’s the hold up?” the bomber asked.
“The neural link is still down. These things only work on hard links,” Nick called back.
“Shit, so that’s why we couldn’t use our implants,” the gunman said, scratching his neck with a free hand. “Some stone age shit, yeah?”
Nick resisted the urge to snort. “You realize most cars work the same way? Nobody wants a Cipher to overwrite their dolls remotely.”
He plugged his phone in and double-checked the last message from Chloe. She knew what he was up to. All systems were go.
After dumping the data to his phone, he pretended to transfer it to the Archangels. In reality, one of the Mark 3s snapped it off his device faster than he could blink. The entire Host now had access to it.
Which potentially made him a little useless, if they recognized the same signs he had earlier.
“It’s ready whenever you are,” Nick said, walking back over.
“Again, this isn’t—” the gunman tried to say, once again grabbing his friend.
The bomber physically shrugged him off. Or tried to. Halfway through the movement, his entire body froze up.
All hell broke loose in the next moment. The loading bay doors sprang open. One of the G2 security dolls dove backward, attempting to shield the gunman’s body. A pair of railgun rounds blew apart the other dolls before they got a shot off.
One came from the Mark 1 next to Nick. Another blew a hole through a wall, then the doll. Both G2s collapsed to the ground, their heads falling to pieces.
The deafening gunfire continued, as a series of high-powered gunshots blew through the loading bay doors, which hadn’t finished opening. Several missed, as the remaining G2 moved unpredictably. But many didn’t, and limbs went flying. A round clipped the helmet of the gunman, nearly knocking him down.
His SMG fired wildly as he tried to spin away. A Mark 1 leaped in front of Nick, blocking his aim and taking any errant gunshots.
The gunman shot across the warehouse floor far faster than a normal human. Cybernetic limbs for sure. More shots went wide as the dolls adjusted to this fact, although one nearly blew his arm off. His wrist dangled by sinew.
“Don’t kill him,” Nick snapped. “Use non-lethals!”
There were four Liberators here, all with ammo switchers in their handguns. Surely they could apprehend one idiot?
More gunfire broke out, but this wasn’t inside the warehouse. The gunman had fire support, and the dolls outside split their attention. The Liberators took aim at the fleeing suspect, who had managed to get outside. Chloe and the Mark 3s hosed whoever was outside.
Nick charged after the gunman. The Mark 1s stayed in front of him, adjusting their pace to match his.
By the time he got outside, a half-dozen more G2s had been reduced to scrap, along with another helmeted idiot. But the suspect that Nick wanted lay twitching on the ground. Two nets lay over him, and several darts had punched through his clothes.
Chloe appeared next to him, her railgun humming. Nick felt heat pour off the barrel of the thing.
“Elimination is advised,” she said. “Their neural implants have a self-destruct function. The Neuron Liberation Front is a terrorist organization that opposes the will of the Spires using extreme methods.”
“Funny that they still use neural implants,” Nick noted drily as he strode up to the disabled enemy. “I want to know their connection to Tartarus. Their interest makes no—”
Chloe suddenly tackled him to the ground. Several guns went off at once.
Then the deafening boom of an anti-materiel rifle split the air. Nick heard the ground shatter where the bullet struck. Another doll leaped atop him, and more gunfire ripped through the air.
Just as soon as the chaos had started, it stopped. The dolls stood up. They surrounded Nick as he rose to his feet and recovered his gun.
Looking over, he saw the result of the rifle shot. Their apprehended suspect had a gore stain in place of a head.
“Extreme methods,” Nick said, repeating Chloe’s line, staring at the headless corpse in front of him.
“The sniper has fled. The rooftops are clear,” Chloe declared. “We are leaving.”
“But—”
Every police doll turned toward him, including the Liberators. The SUV rolled up next to them and its doors opened with a clunk.
“Now,” Chloe said. “A detachment of Liberators and Custodians will protect the warehouse. Highly illegal weaponry is in use. You are in grave danger. It is the consensus of the Host that we leave.”
Nick’s phone buzzed, causing him to notice that it was no longer on silent. How nice of Chloe to return it to his regular settings.
Officer Uriel had contacted him again. This time, her message said, I believe we need to debrief, and you have a meeting to attend. See you soon. :)
It was the smiley face that did it. Nick could feel the restrained fury hidden behind those two characters.
He took a seat inside the SUV, and the Archangels piled in. As the doors slid shut, the Liberators saluted.
The moment the vehicle took off, Nick felt his body decompress. Muscles that hadn’t seriously tensed in years finally relaxed. His body felt like jelly.
Around him, the Archangels replaced their heavy weapons with their usual SMGs and rifles, before sitting back down. Chloe and a Mark 1 sat beside him, which felt significant for some reason.
Nobody said anything. He took the opportunity to remove his ballistic vest.
On the way back, Nick noticed more police vehicles join them. Soon, he was returning to the Spires in a convoy once again. Only this time, they weren’t blaring their sirens. Traffic moved out of the way regardless—although given everything was automated, this was a clear abuse of power by the Archangels.
They rolled into the basement of the police Spire. He still didn’t know which one it was. He was pretty sure this was the Delta Spire, but he couldn’t recall the fancy name.
Rie stood outside the elevators with a handful of Mark 3s. She had a smile plastered across her face, but fortunately didn’t carry a weapon.
While he might have survived facing down criminals, he now had to face a far greater threat. An angry partner who was smiling through her fury.