Kilgore's muscles trembled when he pushed himself to his knees, a weak grin on his face. His skin was covered in ugly, reddish-black blisters. It was painful to look at, but the wounds rippled as I watched, the damage in the process of repair by a healing system far more advanced than any I'd experienced.
He removed the aviator shields, wincing as the melted frames took some skin from his face. "Been a long time since I felt a tingle like that. Think my guts are scorched. That was pretty fun, Mike. What do you say we go for round two?"
I took a wary step backward. "Yeah, why not? This time let's see if you can shrug off a slug to the brainpan."
"You'd be surprised. But I have something better in mind."
A familiar device was in his hand — the same slim mechanism he used in Haven Square to deactivate the synoids. I felt my veins turn to ice as he continued in a soft, amused voice.
"Did you like the first demonstration of the core scrambler, Mike? It's something I stole straight from Maximillian Industries when I dropped in for a visit. Shutting down synoids is just one of the functions. Let me show you what else it can do."
I braced myself when he pressed a button, expecting anything. But for a few ominous seconds, nothing happened.
Then Poddar groaned.
He staggered to his feet, limbs jerking like a zombie rising from the dead. Wincing, he placed his hands on his temples. "Mike … something's wrong. My head — it hurts so bad. I can't … I can't—"
I stared helplessly, realizing what was happening. "No. That's not possible." Then I recalled Faraday's words.
… supplied you with allies …
Kilgore grinned, revealing soot-smeared teeth. "Why did you think I let you bring him here? He was on the list of synoids in the Haven. All warfare is based on deception, Mike. In this case, the man you thought was your friend will be the enemy that kills you."
Poddar screamed, eyes flashing with unnatural light and blue blood trickling from his nostrils. His voice turned garbled, nearly robotic in range. "What's … happening to me?"
I reached in my jacket pocket for another moon clip. "Don't do this, Kilgore. I'm warning you—"
"Save your threats, Mike. You brought this on yourself." His eyes flicked over to Poddar. "Kill Mike and the girl. Then kill yourself."
I turned to Poddar, holding up a forestalling hand. "Poddar — you gotta fight it. Don't let some damn signal change who you are."
He looked at me with the face of a stranger: eyes cold, flat, and lifeless, face fixed in a grim scowl. Reaching behind him, he unsheathed the talwar saber and activated the laser edge with a click of a switch on the hilt. The blade hummed with every motion as if eager to be used.
I reloaded the Mean Ol' Broad and snapped the cylinder into place. "Come on, Poddar. This isn't you. We're not enemies, remember? You don't want to—"
Poddar didn't say anything. Never changing expression, he shot forward, exodermis-enhanced muscles propelling him faster than a normal man could react. Unfortunately, I wasn't a normal man. My arm raised at the same time, lining him up in the sights of my revolver. The motion was automatic, honed by decades of training and survival instinct as if performed by another man. A man free of the pretenses, the guilt, the grief that hampered me. His voice spoke in the back of my mind, calm and self-assured.
You are reason. I am pure instinct.
A single round boomed like a thunderclap in the cathedral. Poddar's head snapped back in a cloud of blue mist, brain core disintegrated by the close-range gunshot. The sword fell from his fingers and hit the floor in a shower of sparks. Poddar's momentum carried him forward in drunken fashion before he collapsed in my arms, eyes staring sightlessly from a face that still bore no expression even as his system shut down. I lowered him to the ground, jaw trembling. It didn't feel like I'd shot a synthetic humanoid at all.
It felt like I just killed my friend.
"Mike?"
Natasha was propped on her elbows, frozen in the act of trying to get up. Her face was dotted by soot and blood, her eyes wide in shock, staring at Poddar's motionless body. Half of me cradled his body and howled until my throat collapsed. The other half of me had already turned away, looking to deal a headshot to Kilgore.
He wasn't there.
The bio-storage case was gone, too. Looking around, I spotted a spiral staircase behind the stage, leading up to an open hatch in the ceiling. The water that streamed down let me know it was an exit to the rooftop.
I turned to Natasha, who knelt beside Poddar, still staring in disbelief. Her eyes slowly met mine. She flinched at what she saw.
"Get out of here, Natasha."
"You're not coming, Mick? I told you — backup is on the way. You don't need to—"
"I don't need backup. Besides, the entire force might be just like him."
"He was your friend, Mick."
"He was. But not anymore. Get in the elevator and get as far as you can away from here. Now."
She scrambled to her feet and broke into a stumbling run toward the exit, throwing fearful looks over her shoulder. I waited until she boarded the elevator before I turned, holstered the Broad, ascended the staircase, and went through the hatch into the pouring rain. Pulling myself up quickly, I took a wary look around.
The wind was vicious, snatching the Bogart off my head the moment I stepped onto the narrow observation deck. Reserved for the most daring tourists, only a six-foot barrier of plexiglass separated the visitor from a stunning panoramic view of New Haven in all of its opulent glory. I wasn't there for the astonishing scenery, though. Soaked to the bone and blazing with white-hot fury, I was there to kill a man.
Kilgore was in his teleportation pose: on one knee with his fist planted against the ground, the bio-case dangling from his other hand. But instead of the usual blinding flash of galvanic energy, tiny sparks flashed in circles around him like electronic moths, flickering before dying out.
I placed a gasper my mouth and looked at the rain that fell in sheets around us. It sparkled in rainbow hues as if coated in soap, crackling with the faint sound of ghost static. I grinned as I lit the cigarette.
"Just ain't your day, is it?"
I could tell Kilgore was seriously injured by the way he moved. The internal damage was enough to have killed a normal man, but Kilgore was something else altogether. Still, seeing him stand on wobbly legs gave me a little bit of hope. If he was somewhere around twenty-five percent, the chance of a fair fight was in my favor.
He gave the sparkling downpour an irritated glance. "This is the second time someone used an anti-aberrant field to contain my abilities. I think the word is getting out."
"Yeah, I'd tell you to try a different approach next time, but there won't be one."
"A different approach?"
I spewed smoke into the rain. "A next time."
A tight grin stretched across his cheeks. "You don't give up, do you?"
I pulled the Mean Ol' Broad and aimed. "Nope."
He twisted sideways, dodging the first shot, then ducked low and spun to avoid the next. The third thumped against his armored chest. The fourth took some meat off his leg when he charged. Five and six missed at point-blank range when he zigzagged back and forth.
Seizing my wrist, he twisted, snapping the bones with an audible crack and flare of agony. The Broad clattered against the wet rooftop. I gasped in pain, swinging an electro-charged fist that he caught with his other hand. Before the energy discharged, he squeezed and shattered the HFM, ripping if from my arm in a shower of sparks and frayed wires. I smashed my forehead into his face, reeling back as my vision went double.
Kilgore barely seemed to notice, teeth flashing in an animal grin as he threw blurred punches that rocked my torso, hitting the armored plate with the force of close-range gunshots. An uppercut finished the combo, snapping my head backward and knocking me clean off my feet. I must have blacked out for a second, because the next thing I knew I was on my back, blinking in the rain with Kilgore standing over me. Seizing me by my coat lapels, he hoisted and swung me into the shatterproof barrier, which contradicted its purpose by splintering ominously from the force. Jamming an elbow against my throat, Kilgore thrust his snarling face inches away from mine.