"Deejay!"
Cash's voice was raw, thick with panic.
Jinx blinked. She was conscious of herself, but couldn't move. Couldn't react. She was trapped in a dream. Or a memory not her own.
The bio-engineering lab was pristine and sterile; clean lines, minimalist glass and steel furnishings. An entire wall was devoted to assorted computer screens displaying data or video feeds— all pertinent to the groundbreaking research that had recently culminated in a revolutionary discovery.
What the hell kind of a VR program is this?
She was frightened. More scared than she ever felt in her life, but it wasn’t her fear. It was the palpable terror of a woman who discovered a terrible secret and was about to pay for it with her life.
Cash walked in, oblivious to the precariousness of the situation. He was younger. Less careworn. Dressed in a heavy trench over a button-down shirt and askew tie. Looking every inch the crusading detective, except for the frantic look on his face.
"Deejay, I gotta get you out of here. You were right. It was Doyle — turned out he was the Butcher all this time. I’m sorry I didn't believe—"
He stopped in his tracks. Eyes wide, slowly raising one hand. Finally, he saw what it was that had her paralyzed. What caused her to be soaked with sweat and trembling in fear.
The masked man with a gun pointed in the back of her head.
"Take your gun out. Slowly." The voice was a rasping hiss in her ears, but the words were directed at Cash.
"Okay." Cash carefully reached inside his jacket. "I'm taking it out. Nobody panic. It's gonna be all right." He pulled the gun out, holding it so his finger was nowhere near the trigger. "There's no need to do this. Understand? Your boss is dead. You're on your own now."
"Dead?" Jinx heard the tremble in the man's voice, felt the gun muzzle jab her in the head. "No. You're lying. Set the gun on the floor. Do it. Do it now!"
Cash knelt, placing the weapon on the tiled floor. He kept his eyes on the gunman. "I'm not lying. I know the Baytown Butcher was Doyle Vardis. My partner of the last four years. Or I should say, my late partner. Because he's worm food right now. And you'll be the same if you don't let my wife go and leave right now."
"The game isn't finished. I was given instructions."
"You don't have to play Doyle's game anymore. He's not alive to enforce his rules. It's your choice now. It's your life. You let my wife go, and you can walk. I won't even follow. I'll let you disappear. You have my word."
The gun muzzled remained firmly pressed against Jinx's scalp. The man's moist breath wafted from his mask, coating the side of her face. His voice remained harsh but quavered with uncertainty.
"Kick the gun away from you."
Cash obeyed, eyes still locked on the gunman. "You have my word. Walk away. There's nothing in this for you. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain by just leaving right now."
The gun quivered against the back of her head. "I… have my orders."
"Orders from a dead man."
"No. You're lying. Trying to trick me."
Jinx felt her adrenaline pumping. The man was going to kill her. She felt it. His rising panic would spill over; his finger would pull that trigger. It was up to her. She recalled what Cash taught her about disarming a would-be attacker. They repeatedly practiced until she got it right.
Cash took one step forward. "Look at me. I'm not lying. Please. Let my wife go."
Jinx felt the moment of hesitation, the slight relaxing of the metal against her skull. She ducked her head to the side and whirled toward the man, bringing her body out of the line of fire. One hand pushed the gun arm aside; the other slammed into the man's throat. He gurgled, staggering backward. The gun still in his hand. She made a panicked grab for it.
A clap of thunder deafened her.
It was Cash's scream that made her realize. There was no pain, not even when she toppled to the floor. The man stood over her; masked like a nightmare, clutching his throat with one hand. The other pointed the gun at her.
The muzzle flashed once. Twice. Three times…
Jinx sat up, gasping for air. The world spun around her. Rusted metal, the smell of grease and hot wires. The recollection slowly coalesced. She was in the cargo bay of the Battle-Cat. A recently escaped prisoner. She had tried to jack into the computer system…
She ripped the goggles from her face, tore off the cy-gear. Trembling, she curled into a ball and let the tears stream down her face. She still felt the terror, the pain of bullets tearing through her flesh. She'd never experienced a VR so real. So indistinguishable from reality. She knew it had to be more. It had to be a memory. Deejay's memory.
Light bathed her face. She blinked her eyes open. Deejay gazed at her from the wall monitor. She looked more than just some photo-realistic avatar. Jinx knew her. Knew what her last moments on earth were like. There was sadness in the woman's Goth-lined eyes. Anguish that only a human could convey.
"I warned you. I'm a bit more unique than the average AI."
Chapter 6
It took only fifteen minutes for Cash to regret coming to the town with no name. The place looked even worse on the inside of the walls. The homes were ramshackle. The best still bore some semblance of their construction; the worst were practically unrecognizable. Scrap metal and pieces of junk were used instead of bricks and wood on most of the buildings. Everything was coated in brown dust as if the entire place was a sandstorm magnet.
The people looked just as rough, reflecting the decrepit state of their town with patchwork clothes and jewelry made of gears, nuts, and bolts. Most of their unfriendly faces were partially obscured by creatively imprinted kerchiefs, wide-brimmed hats, and black-tinted goggles. There weren't many skimmer vehicles and no floaters visible. Most residents didn't seem to own a vehicle at all. They walked the dusty streets, leaping out the way when an ancient metal roadster or motorbike roared down the avenue.
Cash parked the Blunderbore at a plaza where the junk seemed more arranged, a bazaar of sorts. He and Happy exited and looked around. Every face in the immediate area looked either suspicious or predatory.
Happy pointed to a crumbling bar across the street. "Gonna get a cold one. You want?"
He took another glance at their surroundings. "Be safer if we stick together."
"Aw, you're worried about me now? Don't worry; I can handle myself." She propped her rifle on her shoulder and strutted off, moving with the grace of a natural killer. People who only a moment ago seemed dangerous scrambled to give her room as she crossed the dusty road and entered the swinging doors of the bar.
Cash shook his head. I was more worried about myself. He made his way to a somewhat promising shop. It looked like a rusty shed held together by coat hangers and duct tape, which made it practically a boutique compared to the shops next to it. The wind slammed against the blue-tarped roof, practically ripping it from its frame.
He stepped inside. A tiny, shriveled man in tattered rags and an eyepatch looked up from his position behind a dilapidated counter.
"Steal something, and Bart takes your knees."
"Who's Bart?"
"You're talking to Bart. Bartholomew Christof the Third, at your service."
"Well, I'm not here to steal, Bart."
"Everyone is here to steal."
Cash sighed as he scanned the piles of mostly rusty and broken vehicle parts. "I just need to rebuild an anti-grav repulsor for my skim rig."
"That you who busted down a few miles out?"
Cash looked up in surprise. "How do you know that?"
Bart's ugly face split into a toothy grin. "Bart knows what he knows. Word travels fast, partner. You'd do good to get back to your skimmer before the Velociriders take it from you. You can bet they're making plans to do that right now."