I'm already on my feet, flying toward them. They try to recover, laser sights cutting through the smoke and dust as they aim their submachine guns. They never had a chance. I pick them off faster than they can react, and I'm already running past them when their bodies hit the ground.
I hear gunfire and screams from down below, indicating Rogers has made his presence known. The building rocks from an explosion, followed by the sound of stampeding feet.
I turn around the corner. A lone guard stands in front of a door at the end of the hall, where my enhanced vision detects a small crowd of frantic bodies scurrying around. The guard is tall and jacked like a fanatical bodybuilder. A shiny metal dog's face mask covers his head, and he totes a shotgun that's nearly as big as he is.
Seeing me, he lowers the gun. "A girl? I thought bloody killers were mobbing us. Why don't you come over here and give Daddy a kiss, eh?"
I holster my blaster and spread out my arms invitingly. "Think you can handle me, big boy?"
"Oh, you better believe." Dog Face drops the shotgun, flexes his massive arms, and runs toward me, bellowing like an insane beast.
I dart forward, leap alongside the wall and spring, clotheslining him in the throat. Synthetic arm meets throat with the force of a baseball bat. He gurgles and slams against the floor, clutching his ruined throat. I keep going, using my momentum to smash into the door, buckling the steel and knocking it inward off its hinges.
Scantily-clad women scream, cowering against the walls while the crew leaps to their feet, snatching guns from tabletops and wall racks. They're too slow. I pick them off one-by-one with precisely-aimed shots, purposely leaving one of them unharmed. He takes advantage of the brief moment by racking his shotgun, visibly terror on his heavily pierced and tattooed face. I'm on him before he can raise the weapon.
A savage chop to his wrist breaks the bone and sends the gun flying. My other hand seizes him by the throat and slams him against the wall so forcefully that the drywall fragments, forming a web of cracks around his head. He writhes painfully in my grip, trying in vain to pry my fingers away.
I lean in close. "One chance to talk. Give me what I want, and you get to walk away."
"What… do you want?" he gasps.
"Keno. Where is he?"
His eyes practically swim with fear, but he has the guts to resist, spitting his words through clenched teeth.
"Sod off. You're getting jack all from me, so do your bloody worst."
I tilt my head, a smile tugging the corner of my mouth. "Your funeral."
Still clutching his throat, I pivot and slam him into the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the party scene below. The pane shatters, and we both fall through, tumbling down and smashing into the DJ equipment, collapsing the table in a shower of sparkling glass.
The air hums with bullets fired by Keno's men as they exchange rounds with Agent Roger's more disciplined squad. Ravers mill around in mass panic, trampling each other, running into walls and other people because they still have their eyes covered by malfunctioning holovisors. In the chaos I catch a glimpse of Zen in the crowd, shoving bodies aside using her exoskeleton arms. Brutus is in front of her, protected by the Kodiak armor activated by his chest harness. He guards her jealously, swinging his big, furry arms; every swipe sends bodies flying through the air as if they're weightless.
The shootout ends quickly, with Keno's guards put down or retreating. Frightened partygoers continue to stream out the exits, while others stare and take photos. Rogers shouts orders, trying to get a semblance of order to the place. I leave him to it as I glance down at the man sprawled underneath me. He groans, blinking his eyes in a near-daze. I slap his face to keep him focused. He glares up with red-rimmed eyes, face twisted in pain.
"You… bloody cunt. I think you broke my back."
I slam a knee into his ribcage and use my cyber-eye to scan his body for lethal injuries. "Not broken yet, but I can fix that if you keep giving me lip. One more time: where's Keno?"
He tries to move, but convulses, biting off a painful moan before finally sagging in defeat. His eyes close, and I have to lean in to hear his whispered words.
"Went to jack a shipment. All I know."
I put more weight into his ribs. "That's old news. Where would he go afterward? Talk, scumbag."
"Safehouse a few miles from here. He doesn't tell me anything else, I swear."
I reach down, snatch him by his collar, and hoist him to his feet.
"Show me."
We're back in the chopper, flying top speed to the warehouse our cooperative guest has indicated. I give him a warning glance.
"You better not be lying, or you'll be the first out the door. And I don't think you'll survive the drop."
He grits his teeth, clutching his side. "I'm not lying. Look, I need medical attention. I think I'm bleeding internally."
"You get a nano-med shot if your info pays off. That's the deal."
I glance over at Zen, who looks back with a pensive stare. I know what she's thinking, what she can't say because of the listening ears. She's worried, maybe even scared. Because Dabria will probably be there. And if she is, I'm going to have to fight her. I'm going to have to kill her, or she'll kill me. I don't think I can avoid the inevitable encounter. Even worse, I don't know how to feel about it. Not without answers. Not without knowing why she abandoned me to this fate.
Agent Rogers looks up from tending to a wounded member of his squad. "Two minutes."
I stand up and walk to the door. "Give the snitch his shot. I'll clear the landing zone."
He nods. "We're right behind you."
I look at the monitor, where the warehouse district is visible, growing larger by the second. A sleek airship shaped like a streamlined bird is on the ground, which could only belong to Dabria. Two people are out in the open: Dabria and a man I recognize only from the recent photo obtained from Deep Sleep.
It's Specter.
This is it, then. No turning back now.
I leap out of the door. It's a much shorter drop this time: wind, gravity, ground. I hit my boot thrusters to brake, then hit the ground running. Dabria turns around. To my surprise, her helmet is off. She looks no different than when I last saw her: commanding eyes, bold nose, full lips, chiseled jawline. There is no shock, no surprise visible on her face. She waves Specter back, and he runs for the airship. I pay him no attention because I know one slip of concentration is all Dabria needs to stop me.
I snatch my inferno blaster from the holster and open fire on the run, scattering my shots to compensate for the movement. It makes no difference. Dabria anticipates the move and is already airborne via her boot thrusters. With a snap of her wrist, her forearm alters, panels readjusting to reform as an ion cannon.
Well, that's new.
She's still in midair when she fires. The ground erupts at my feet, the concussive force slamming into me like a massive fist. I sprawl sideways while she lands, skidding across the broken ground. Her cannon continues to fire, forcing me to roll and scramble to avoid the blasts. The stench of seared ozone and charred earth stings my nostrils, and the debris nearly blinds me. I catch a glimpse of her running in zigzag formation like a metallic panther. The helmet is back on, sealing her face. She's a beast of prey now, as I am.
I raise my inferno blaster, but she's on me before I can fire. A whirling kick knocks the weapon out of my hands. Without slowing, she spins again, avoiding my counterpunch by dropping low and sweeping my legs from under me. I slam against the ground but ignore the pain, flipping over to land on my feet. Dabria presses her attack, striking with efficient punches that keep me at bay. I notice the cannon has reverted into a hand again, forcing me to realize an unwanted truth.