Dante

  “I’ve been talking to the others,” Lyrica says. “We can think of one way someone could manage a basilisk hack without incredibly advanced technology – but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Tell me,” I tell her.

  “Setting off a whole series of powerful post-hypnotic suggestions could do it, just like she said. But that would imply you’d had the opportunity to create them in the first place. Especially if you also needed to prime your target with the right abilities in the first place, like boosting circulation to parts of your brain, or activating photographic memories of past experiences… or imagined ones.

  “But to do that…” Lyrica continues carefully.

  “You’d have to get to me well in advance,” I finish for her, my heart sinking. Only one guess as to who. “Implant the suggestions, maybe dozens of them. Train me, shape me, warp me for as long as it took. Maybe years. Or my whole life. All so you could flip that switch whenever you felt like it.” The Program. Nana Price and her colleagues.

  Lyrica sighs. “I told you you wouldn’t like it.”

  “You’re not wrong.” I think, taking a slow, deep breath. “Any idea how they could have pulled this off?”

  “You’re assuming ‘they’ did it,” Lyrica notes. “Your new friend with the cards may have just been pulling the trigger. As the behest of whoever planted it. An employee, a mercenary, even a brainwashed catspaw. For this Circle Ghost mentioned, or whoever else. And that assumes there’s a direct connection. If there’s a blueprint of your mind, someone else might have stolen it.”

  I blink, then stand there silently, turning it all over in my head. “So maybe they’ve just targeted me, made a psychological profile and slipped in the suggestions for later, or…” I shrug uncomfortably. “Or someone already in my life did it for them.” In fairness, Nana wouldn’t want her prize pupils brainjacked by any terrorist lunatic with some strobe lights who wandered by.

  “Can you think of anyone who might have done something like that?” Lyrica asks cautiously.

  “Just one, and you’re not going to like it either.” I sigh. “My family. For better or worse. As victims or perpetrators.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Lyrica adds. She doesn’t argue. But then, she knows my family. The good and the bad.

  I nod. “I know you don’t. But you’re my best bet to defusing any bombs ‘they’ planted in my head, so I’m going to need you to look at it again.” I rub my chin. “Let’s go home.”

  I turn, and step through the door. And into endless silver fire.

  Ghost slides out of the cloud of blazing, silver-white motes, bounces off the wall next to me, and halts within arm’s reach. “Company,” she says with quiet intensity. “Circle, maybe, but with better tech. This way.” She gestures to our left and slides quietly along the wall in that direction, even the faint whistle of her gliding sneakers lost in the rumble of what I assume is the subway station.

  I follow without a word. Ghost’s been invaluable so far, so I’ve let her take the lead in evading these people she knows so much about.

  Colors glimmer within the silvery cloud all around us, like auroras lost in the artificial mist.

  Figures also lurch within it, much too large to be any normal person. At least 2 or 3 feet too tall.

  The hulking shadows reach the access door moments after Ghost and I left it and one wrenches it open in a blur. The giants seem to be covered in metal, though that might have been a trick of the silver-filtered light. Or maybe they’re just bots.

  They fade into the mist as Ghost and I retreat. She pauses at another access door, pulls it partway open, and waves me through. I slip past without arguing. I need more information to figure out what we’re facing, much less make a plan, so I’m stuck with hers for now.Ghost follows me, closes the door softly behind us, and raises a finger to her lips as I’m about to speak. She slides swiftly down the corridor we’re in, which opens into another subway tunnel. Ghost steps onto the service ledge on one side of it. I glance warily in either direction before following her. I’ve never shared a tunnel with a passing subway, and I’m fairly certain I don’t want to start today.

  I wave at Ghost to get her attention and begin to gesture in American sign language. She laughs silently, and steps up close to me.

  Ghost taps my right temple and my jaw. I feel her press something cold to each spot, where they cling on as if glued there.

  Ghost smiles again, and her voice echoes in my head. Now, we can talk. Don’t say anything aloud. I’m not sure how good their auditory tracking is.

  I quell a cry, and think Wha—? Which echoes in my head as well, though strangely distorted.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Ghost grins again as she stares down the rail tunnel. It’s vibrating your bones so you can hear my voice. And picking up on our subvocalizations so we can speak without speaking.

  How?How do you have your tech? Some I buy, some I download, some I build. And some are all three. She waves me forward and begins skidding down the service walkway.

  I follow, silent as a, well, Ghost. And that haze back there?

  More of the same. Microbots. Mostly they just float around. Good for camo, comms, ECMs, and keeping the Circle running in circles.

  Where are we? The subway passage is massive and ominously dark and silent. I don’t doubt we’re not supposed to be there, but ‘pursued by giant robots or guys in power armor’ has to be a reasonable justification if there ever was one.

  Tunnel being renovated. There was a hiccup in the funding, so there’s nobody here on the weekend. But it connects up to another station, and we can give them the slip from there. Ghost flits along, perfectly at ease in the shadows. I am, too, but more because I have natural night vision.

  And those guys were…?

  She shrugs. Maybe Circle. Maybe not. Way better tech, though. They nuked the cameras with a localized EMP before we got there, but didn’t fry critical systems, or even most phones in the crowd. So I threw up a haze for cover.

  Can you do that again?

  Not much. I keep having to leave my bots behind, or I’m just leaving a trail. They’ll catch up later, but my pockets are empty. She laughs silently over her shoulder at him. You’re an expensive date.

  They zoom along in momentary silence, as Ghost concentrates on the way forward and Dante follows, still processing all that’s happened in the last… what, 20 minutes?

  They found the door. Crazy people, 6 o’clock.

  I glance over my shoulder at the empty corridor. Where?

  Well, behind the bend, still. Keep your head down. She opened another door and waved me into… a storage room?

  I glance around. There’s enough space for us to get inside, but it looks like someone stuffed a ton of jackhammers and other heavy tools into a big storage closet. I pull my phone and text into it quickly. Lyrica, anything?

  She’s right. They’re back there. Picking up a lot of metal, also.

  I nod. Anything else? I text.

  I’m limited to on-board sensors, which aren’t much, Dante. And keeping quiet, since I don’t have a neurophone for silent discussion, and I don’t want to handshake this ‘Ghost’s’ handiwork. If it’s like Legios’, it might be trigger happy.

  Got it. I look over Ghost’s shoulder out into the tunnel. All you can do. I know. I slip the phone back into my pocket.

  Ghost glances up at me. They’re getting closer. Get ready. Ambush in five.

  I nod, slipping on a pair of neoprene gloves from his other pocket, which is literally all the gear I’ve got on me, other than my phone. I see some wire and a couple broken ball bearings in a half-empty waste bin and grab them. I slip past Ghost, roll the metal balls from the bearings into the path of anyone coming around the bend, and speed to the other side of the tunnel, jumping the third rail, just in case. I tie off one end of the wire on some exposed rebar as I hear the steady tramp of huge approaching boots. Then I race back across while holding the bare wire well above the exposed rail and tie off the other end on another piece of jutting rebar.

  Then I hop back up on the ledge and slip back into Ghost’s storage closet turned bolt hole. Or foxhole.

  I pick up a wrecking bar in one hand and a few massive bolts in the other. Ambush with what? I wasn’t loaded for bear when I went to the coffeeshop. I was looking for a latte, not a fight.

  With whatever you’ve got. And my backup drones. Still incoming. Let’s make ‘em count. After these, I’m out.

  I can hear the steady, heavy tread getting louder, echoing down the subway shaft. Two huge pursuers, as expected. I wonder how much cover the concrete of this tiny cul de sac will offer if they have heavy weapons to go with the armor.

  I decide I don’t want to find out.

  My silent audio comms hiss and crackle, and suddenly I hear different voices in his head. Closing, a man’s voice says. Heavy ECM interference. Tracks with this ‘Ghost’s’ tech.

  Stay alert, another voice orders. Reinforcements are still five to seven out. You see something, you hit it hard.

  Even the other kid? a third man’s voice asks, dubious.

  There’s a priority kill order on Ghost. Ignore whatever you think you see. She’s the most-dangerous operative we’ve ever faced. You see her, you end her. All collateral damage acceptable.

  Ghost grins and waggles her eyebrows at me. Here. We. Go. She tapped a smartwatch. Go time, puppies. Nip and bark.

  I hear a low buzz as a drone flies around the bend of the tunnel. Or rather, plunges around the bend as its propellers stutter to a halt, hitting the floor and somersaulting to crash in an inert heap in front of us. One of theirs, not ours, I assume.

  And then, like the low hum of a thousand giant, enraged hornets, tiny drones sweep down the shaft from the opposite direction, arcing past in an endless river of merciless metal.

  A beam of white-hot plasma slashes through the air from just out of sight.

  Contact! the first man calls out.

  EMP hardened, the other one growls.

  A laser snaps into existence, crimson cutting across clouds of chattering minidrones and shearing them into shards as easily as slicing air.

  Then again, I see flashes as many of the drones fire… something as they engage the troops still just out of sight. I’m able to see a few drones slow, spread out and take different positions just before they come in sight of our hunters. They’re a dark grey, oddly sleek, and with rotors inset in their structure. Like tiny starships, only airborne, not spacebound. And not nearly as noisy as I expected.

  Targeting’s shot, the second man continues. And our drones—

  A simultaneous clatter of larger minidrones sounds, as all our pursuers’ drones hit the concrete together.

  Control? the first guy asks.

  Comms are down, the second one says. Except line of sight. Who is this kid?

  Target sensors, kittens. Scratch their eyes out. Ghost’s teeth are barred, though in more of a snarl than a smile.

  Just then, both armored men rush around the corner, each surrounded by a whirlwind of angry AI attackers. Each one holds a huge gun in one hand, firing light and plasma respectively. They’re lashing out at the drones even as their heads are bombarded with electricity, vibrations, lasers, strobe lights and more – an assault so fearsome I wonder if their sensors haven’t been burned out already. A few drones also fire at the pair’s weapons. And a silver mist is slowly, ominously settling over everything.

  I crouch, taking a grip on my makeshift weapons, and prepare to face the fight as it stumbles on our doorstep. The men stand at least 8-feet tall in their armor, and wreathed in energies, silver dust motes and ravaging drones, they loom larger than life in the shadows.

  Just then, one of them slips and shouts as he finds a stray ball bearing. His arms wave desperately as he struggles to stay upright. Then he hits the wire at ankle level and fights all the harder to keep his balance. My closest knot on the rebar tears free.

  As planned. The wire goes slack, drops, and instantly hits the third rail just below it. A burst of brilliant blue-white electricity tears down the wire and up the trooper’s leg, crackling briefly across his armor before surging down his plasma handcannon. He shouts louder as the lightning surges frantically into the ions – accelerated protons, I’m guessing, a potent attractor for the third rail’s current.

  The interaction’s blinding for a moment, then ceases. Then the taut, semi-molten wire snaps free from the rail and the armored man staggers, his weapon smoking as he pauses in his assault.

  He turns in our direction.

  Patreon page. The first 10 chapters are already up there, even for free subscribers, and you can also see the art which didn't upload to Royal Road.