Jett tapped the back of the Vigil headgear. The helmet slid into place around his face; the g-spans glimmered with blue light. The crowds of living dead cowered back, scrambling away from him. He strode through their midst, unhampered.
Proto's voice buzzed over the com. "Warning. You are currently down to twenty-percent on power. Your g-spans are also nearly depleted of k-darts. Use of pulse and electric weapons sparingly is recommended until you recharge."
"Great. How do I recharge?"
"You must return to a Vigil safe house. Unfortunately, I've been locked out of the system, and cannot gain access to the network."
Incognito. Guess making him mad wasn't a good idea.
"We'll have to make do until we come up with something. I've got the railgun for backup."
He walked down a flight of stairs into a full-blown rave. Laser lights flashed across the darkness of the makeshift club; a throbbing beat reverberated across floor and walls. A thick, hazy mixture of vape smoke and machine-generated fog hung in the air.
A wild mix of people in costumes and masks bounced and gyrated on the dance floor. Men and women hung in cages, grinding against each other. A band in metallic outfits and multicolored hair rocked back and forth on a stage built from machine parts. Flames shot from exhaust pipes as they screamed and attacked their instruments with violent ferocity. The air was thick with the scents of sweat, alcohol, and smoke. The blaring noise was automatically reduced by the helmet's receivers.
No one paid him any mind as he pushed and shoved his way through the thick mass of carousing bodies. He was just another man in a mask, nothing out of the ordinary to the crowd. A pair of giggling women dressed in feathered masks and little else clung to him, stroking his chest and arms. He shook them off, finally clearing the mob.
He stepped onto the subway tracks, where flickering neon lights barely illuminated the gloom. Trudging down the tunnel, he occasionally stepped over bodies that were either sleeping or dead. Drunken partygoers paired off in the darkness or staggered about like zombies, laughing and talking to the air. Jett ignored them, scanning the walls for sign of his quarry.
Coming upon a train of rusty, abandoned subway cars, he peered inside. People were hooked up to spherical contraptions that covered their entire heads. Wires led to computer consoles, where proprietors manned the controls. The word HAZE was lit on one of the cars in bright pink letters.
A sharp-nosed, leather-clad man in cyberpunk gear gestured to Jett. "Wanna hit that Sensync, my man? First trip is free. Best high you ever been on, guaranteed."
Jett stepped forward for a closer look. A woman was strapped to a reclining chair, the apparatus secured over her head. Her body occasionally convulsed, jerking at the restraints. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her skin.
"What's she seeing?"
The punk grinned. "Memories. Fully tangible, indistinguishable from reality. All senses engaged. This is the real deal, brother."
"Whose memories?"
"Does it matter? It's the experience they come back for. Like living in a movie, but better. Got all kinds of trips. Gay-curious, but don't want no one to know? Get all the action you want. Wanna experience what it's like to be caught in a megastorm? Got that. Got real kills too, man. I'm talking people, baby. Shoot someone in the head and never get charged for it. C'mon, give it a whirl. It'll open your mind to a whole new level of existence."
Jett edged backward. "Maybe later."
The punk flicked his chin with his fingers in an insulting manner. "Yeah, whatever. Nice helmet, scuzzy."
Jett shook his head and continued down the tunnel. The light dimmed even further, but the visor compensated with night vision. He approached a group of toughs spray-painting graffiti on the wall. A crown dripping blood with the initials CK underneath.
Crimson Kings.
"Nice work. You guys should quit being scumbags and just be artists. Scumbags are going out of style in my town."
The toughs turned around, faces obscured by painted gas and hockey masks. One of them gestured with a metal pipe. "Your town? The hell you 'posed to be?"
Jett activated the magnetic tow option on his g-span, snatching the pipe from the tough's hand to his own. He slowly rotated it, staring them down while he triggered intimidation mode on the holographic panel. The setting made his visor glow red and deepened his voice to a guttural growl.
"I'm the man who's gonna break your skulls if you get in my way."
The toughs took nervous glances at each other. Finally, the leader gave a wild yell and charged.
Jett whipped the pipe forward, bashing it across the tough's head with a hollow ringing sound. The man dropped to the ground without a word. Jett looked up at the others.
"Anyone else?"
They shook their heads.
"Naw, bruh."
"We cool."
"Yeah. We peace, no beef."
Jett stepped closer at the fourth tough. The smallest one, cowering behind the others. Jett pointed a gloved finger. "I know you. From the alley. You know — when you were about to attack a fourteen-year-old girl. You're Slick. Kane's little buddy."
The other Crimson Kings stepped aside, leaving their friend exposed. He took a fearful look around, then back at Jett. Sweat slid down his face. He didn't see Jett. He couldn't. He saw someone else.
He saw Vigil.
Jett jerked a thumb at the other toughs. "Take a hike."
They ran, bumping into one another in their haste to escape. Jett turned his attention back to Slick. "Remember me?"
"Big mistake. Never seen you."
Jett snatched him by the collar, hoisting him off the ground. "This will go better if you tell the truth, punk. You and Kane were the only ones who got away."
Slick shook his head. "Don't know no Kane."
Jett punched him in the stomach.
Slick gagged, face crimson. "Wait. Remember now. Yeah… was in alley."
"Then you must know I paid a little visit to your warehouse. And what I did to your friend."
Slick whimpered, tears welling in his eyes. "Yeah. You k-k-killed him."
Jett hesitated, lowering Slick to the ground. "What are you talking about?"
"Convoy hit. Kane, two pigs dead."
"That wasn't me."
Slick's eyes widened "No?"
"No. You think you're scared now? Just think of when whoever killed Kane comes after you."
"Didn't do nothing."
"You didn't have to. Someone's cleaning up. Only a matter of time before that person thinks about you and finishes the job."
"What do you want me to do?"
Jett slapped a datcom in Slick's trembling hand. "Keep this on you at all times. When I call, you better answer."
"What I do meantime? Where I go?"
"Where any rats and roaches go when they don't want to be found. Lay low somewhere. You know the drill. Meantime, point out where I can find Diabolis' little hideout."
"Diabolis? What you want with—"
"That's not your worry. Just tell me where they are."
Slick pointed down the tunnel. "Half-mile down. Their turf. Even CKs don't go down there."
"I'm not a Crimson King."
"Yeah, but they hired out Joe Blow for muscle…"
"I got muscle. Get outta my sight, Slick. You survive a night or two; I'll give you a call. We can talk about getting you out the crosshairs. But for right now, get lost."
Slick took a few hesitant steps, throwing furtive looks over his shoulder. When he saw Jett wasn't following, he took off full sprint in the opposite direction.
Jett turned and headed into the gloom of the tunnel.
For a stretch, it was only his echoing footsteps and the drip of water from the countless leaking pipes. Moss and slime covered the walls; vines swayed from the ceiling. Then light appeared in the distance. The clamor of music and voices grew louder.