“Alright, let’s run through this again,” I say.

“Don’t you think that’s a little overkill, Mak?” my partner, Rit asks.

“I want to make sure we get this right.”

“We’ve been doing this a long time and this is hardly our most complicated mission. I’ve got it.”

“Then repeat the plan back to me.”

“I follow you to the guys I have to kill,” Rit says with a grin.

I cross my arms and purse my lips.

“Alright, alright,” Rit says. “When we touch down we make our way through customs then meet up with the asset on the ground. He will give us the rundown on these ‘Dream Harvesters’. We will take his information and find their base of operations and kill anyone that needs killing and destroy anything that needs destroying to stop them for good.”

“Good enough,” I say and slump back in my seat. We are in a private compartment of a passenger carrier ship. We haven’t left the small space, wide enough for our two seats facing each other with a few feet of legroom between and tall enough for empty baggage compartments over our heads, since boarding the ship several hours before on Gramen. The sealed door to my left has kept other passengers and any crew from interrupting or overhearing us.

“I can’t believe this, but I kinda miss Perry already,” Rit says. He scratches the back of his head where the AI is usually attached. “The little shit has really gotten in my head.” He throws me a self-satisfied smile.

Rather than acknowledge his bad joke, I just say, “yeah, well, if we had those chips plugged into our heads we would never make it through customs.”

“I hate undercover missions.” Rit picks at the stylized UDS logo on his t-shirt. We both wear the t-shirts, his in blue, mine in yellow, and black cargo pants. Not the standard issue uniform for agents, but typical for us.

“Most of our missions are undercover,” I remind him.

“Yeah, but not to Tumbar. Pretty much everywhere else we can get guns and AIs in. Freaking Tumbar.”

I shake my head.

A ding sounds in our compartment, followed by a robotic female voice telling us we were about to dock.

“Relax,” I say, “you’ll be armed again soon.”

“I’d better be.” Rit pushes off the seat and stands. His hulking form fills the space between the seats. He grins down at me, then taps the door and it slides open. Once he has vacated the compartment, I stand and follow him.

The door leads into a narrow hallway already packed with people. They file out of doors on either side, most wrestling with luggage. A few of the nicer-dressed passengers lead floating bags. Rit has already struck up a conversation with a pair of young women trying to muscle their large packs from the compartment next to ours. He waves them aside and pulls down the bags from over the seats and carries them, one in each hand, into the hallway.

“Thank you very much,” one of the women says.

“Of course,” Rit says. “Are you ladies coming or going?”

I shake my head and prod him in the back to get them moving with the crowd. He keeps up smalltalk with them all the way through the ship. The corridor meets up with two others in a wide room with screens and couches. People fill it. Most are in business attire, a few in military uniforms. Only a couple of children and three women besides the ones Rit is chatting with. The military men walk proud and the crowd moves aside for them, but they pay little attention.

The wall on the other side of the room is gone, lowered down into a ramp for disembarking. We jostle our way through the room. I keep my arms at my side, not quite relaxed. Rit never stops in his conversation with the two women, though he barely looks at them, instead discreetly scanning the crowd. He taps his legs with his fingers.

When we reach the ramp, the women look at Rit. “It was very nice to meet you, Chris,” one of them said.

“Are you ladies sure you don’t want help carrying your bags back to your place? Then perhaps show me around the city. Or stay in,” Rit says with a wink.

The women giggle. “I don’t see why not,” the same one says.

The other looks me up and down. “Will your friend join us?”

“Oh, John here? No way, he likes his wife too much. Besides,” Rit leans in and holds up his hand between me and his mouth, but speaks loud enough for me to hear still, “if she ever found out, she would rip his dick off.”

The woman covers her mouth to hide her laughter. I roll my eyes.
 
 

“Come on, Chris, we’ve got somewhere to be,” Mak says. The bastard always tries to keep me focused.

“Sorry ladies,” I say, “perhaps another time.” I certainly hope not.

Normally, stepping off a ship onto a planet is a breath of fresh air, literally. Not Tumbar. The air is thick and musty and I swear I taste dirt.

“Gross,” I say. Mak and I venture down the ramp.

The sky above shimmers blue, a color granted by the shield holding the breathable air inside the dock. The roof doors are retracted, leaving a gap big enough for a couple of ships to pass through at a time. A small cluster of liners and private transports wait their turns to dock at either of the two levels of the dock or to leave. A large portion of the upper level is barricaded for military use, no doubt sending troops to quell the Gunsmas rebellion.

On the lower dock, where our outdated ship deposited us, armed guards patrol. Each of them holds a submachine gun, eyes scanning the arrivals; the rebellion has made them jumpy. No threat there.

None of the arrivals is suspicious, all clearly unhappy to be here. They push toward the wide passageway on the left side of the dock, none of them trying to be inconspicuous. Aside from Mak. Years of training show in how he melts into the flow of the crowd. I follow his lead.

We pass by seven cameras before we even get to customs. At least half a dozen armed guards as well. Nobody in the crowd sticks out as a threat.

People siphon out of the main hallway toward other transportation or waiting areas. We follow the glowing green signs directing us to customs. The hallway vomits us out into a massive room with way too many guards. There are six lines where two guards watch a third put people through the wringer: interrogation and ID check. Scanners check every bag. Many people are searched and patted down. Their system for choosing is obvious. If there is a kid in the group, no one is checked. Few women are checked, one with a face tat, another with a “Support Gunsmas” shirt. Every lone man is patted down, with special care given to those that appear to be from Gaidis or Wostin.

“Well, we’re going to get patted down,” Mak says.

“No shit. What gave it away? The fact that we’re lone men or that our IDs say we’re from Wostin or that we’re wearing UDS shirts on the one planet that doesn’t hire them for security,” I ask.

“It was your less than discreet scanning actually. Makes you look a little suspicious.” Mak looks down at his chest. “And I stand by the shirts. Most people still respect them and it may alleviate the suspicion of the people we really care about hiding from. Their secret allies.”

I shrug and go back to my less than discreet scanning.

Sure enough, when I get up to the guards, I am patted down. They take my ID chip, which projects an image of my beautiful mug and a description of my alias, which is very close to the actual identity of one of the Ghosts; Mak’s is similar to the other’s. The two either haven’t figured out that we do this or they don’t care, having wiped their own identities a long time ago. The guards find my enhancement disruptor chip too.

“Gotta be prepared,” I say when the guard asks about it. He gives it back.

The guard asks me why I’m there. I feed him Mak’s story about us touring planets before we join up with UDS. The guard actually thanks me for it. They really have no idea.

He lets me go without asking why I don’t have a bag and I step between the armed guards. The left one needs to take his damn finger off the trigger.

Mak joins me a couple of minutes later.

“So,” I say, “what say we grab some food on the way to meet our contact?”

“We don’t have time, we can get some after.” Damn.

“Fine. Lead the way Mister Maps,” I say, waving toward the escalators at the end of the room.

At the top of the escalators we come to a landing with doors on the other three sides. The doors opposite the escalators are glass. They slide open when people near. Beyond them is what passes for outdoors on this nightmare of a planet. It is there that we go.

Guards flank the doors both inside and out. All of them give us a glance as we exit the building. There’s barely a difference between inside and outside. The lighting changes, becoming similar to sunlight, but still obviously artificial, and not just because I can see the lights casting it set in the roof overhead. The “street” is walled on both sides, feeling more like the highways on our capital ships than an actual planet. Painted facades stick out from the walls, signifying buildings.

Rumbling vehicles pass by, all as boring as the rest of the scene. A few pedestrians walk on the raised sidewalks with hurried steps and downcast eyes. There are at least twenty cameras I can see from here. Everything, except for the people, is made from the same dark gray metal. This planet sucks. Maybe they’ll fix it up once the big man decides to do a wide release of our terraforming tech.

Mak goes right down the sidewalk. He keeps his head down enough to obscure his face, but not so much to be suspicious. His steps are fast enough to make good time, not so fast they draw attention. He puts way too much effort into this.

I walk with my hands in my pockets, chin held high and swing in my step. If anyone is watching us, they’ll know the man they know as Chris is a confident SoB.

We pass by side streets hidden behind large doors with names projected above them. One of those doors opens and deposits a car onto the larger road. There are smaller open pedestrian doorways on either side of the larger ones. Cameras watch every intersection.

A blue painted taxi offers us a ride. We decline.

After several long minutes of walking, we reach the end of the port district. A massive door several times larger than the others stands open over the street. Pedestrian doors are on either side. If all of the doors shut, then there would be a large airtight wall cutting off the street. A projected sign above the gaping hole says “Government District.”

“Alright! Walking right into the nest of the guys we’re hiding from,” I say. “Did you do this for me? You know me so well.”

Mak shakes his head. “Don’t flatter yourself, our contact picked the spot.”

“Should’ve guessed,” I say.

We approach the district and the guard standing between the street and pedestrian doors eyes us. I flash a smile and nod. His gaze passes over our UDS shirts and he scowls.

“Guess they’re pretty torn on the UDS,” I say.

“You should really read a briefing now and then. They detail things like that.”

Of course they do. Those things are surprisingly thorough. I honestly have no idea how we get the intel we do. Like near exact ratios of who supports the UDS and who doesn’t. Only Wostin has a lower percentage of UDS supporters than this planet. And that isn’t by accident.

We enter the government district. Mak veers off the main road, through a door into a sidestreet. This street is more of the same, just more cramped. Most of the pedestrians are in nice suits. A few of them are armed and trailing someone else.

Mak doesn’t keep us on this road for long. He steps through a doorway that says “housing 3” like he belongs there. I do the same, tilting my head just enough for the camera not to get a good look at my pretty face.

A short hallway through the door is lined with pictures of other planets. The deserts of Wostin there. The great white cities of Tern here. The screen-dotted cityscapes of Gramen farther down. The forests of Gunsmas make a few appearances. Guess they’re still advertising their colony despite the rebellion. I know for a fact the city shown in one photo is now mostly cratered rubble. Apparently that was one helluva fight. Blind Unit gets all of the fun.

The hallway opens up to a large room.  Tables sit in the center.  Each has a fake potted plant on it.  Cushioned benches line the walls wherever there isn’t a screen and padded seat.  Almost every seat is filled.  The benches are mostly older people.  The seats with screens are mostly younger.  The tables are a nice mix.  Nobody looks at us.

Seven other hallways stretch out from the room as well as at least ten other doors.  It is to one of the nearest doors Mak takes me.  It has a knob, though most of the others don’t.  Inconsistent architects. Mak pulls it open and I follow him through.

We’re inside a janitorial closet. Brooms and mops hang from the walls. They still use brooms and mops. A shelving unit sticks out in the middle of the room. Bottles of cleaner clutter it. Behind the shelf I can see a man watching us from between two green spray bottles. A suppressed pistol is pointed at my chest.

“Our contact is the janitor?” I whisper to Mak.

He just shrugs.

“Identification,” the man says. His voice is calm and soft, but something about it is intimidating. I won’t cross him if I can help it.

“Panthers; EL19,” Mak says. “PE922.”

“PE923,” I say.

“Quick thinkers. Executors. Fitting for a killer team,” the man says, pulling back the pistol.

“Specialist kill team,” I say. “We’re way better than those cocky assholes.”

Mak raises an eyebrow at me. “They’re the cocky ones?”

“Shut up.”

The bastard shoots a grin my way, then looks at the stranger, who is now standing at the end of the shelving unit. The man is dressed in an all black suit. He’s taller than me, though not as wide. But he holds himself like he thinks he could kill us both. The Shadows-issued SP83 pistol in his hand probably has something to do with that.

“Who are you?” Mak asks. “What do you mean we’re quick thinkers?”

“Your designation says more about you than you think. I am Chaser,” the man says.

“No way that’s your real name,” I say.

“It is as real as any. Our time is limited, so we must waste none.” Chaser motions for us to follow him behind the shelving unit. What a weirdo.

Chaser turns his back on me as he disappears into the back of the room. He’s either stupid or confident. I take the lead, moving ahead of Mak and around the end of the shelving unit.
 
 

I keep my arms on the verge of relaxed as I round the end of the shelves. Rit taps his legs, eyes fixed on the man calling himself Chaser. I take in the surroundings. There is a table in the back of the room with a duffle bag on it. Mop buckets pushed to the walls. Nowhere for people to hide. And no cameras.

Chaser stops at the table and sets his pistol down. He unzips the duffle bag, then turns to face us again.

“I have one SP57 and three extra magazines for each of you. Along with an adaptive muter each, as anything less would not be prudent on this planet. I would suggest avoiding their use whenever possible. Firearms are illegal except for the guards, military and licensed bodyguards,” the suited man says.

“Yeah, yeah, we know the deal with this stupid planet,” Rit says.

Chaser nods and pulls out two pistols and places them on the table. They are smaller than his SP83, easier to conceal. He places three magazines beside each. The green tips on the bullets means they are armor-piercing. Is that is necessary? He then sets a cylindrical suppressor next to the magazines.

“Hell yeah,” Rit says, stepping forward and picking one of the weapons up. “I was expecting some second-rate blackmarket shit. Nice to see you got some Shadows gear down here.”

“We appreciate it,” I say, moving to take the other pistol. I check it and slip it into my waistband. “Want intel do you have for us?”

Chaser reaches back into the bag and pulls out a map, spreading it across the table. It has red highlights all over it. “I was told you have a memory for maps,” he says.

I nod in confirmation.

“Then memorize this. The red zones are where there is no camera coverage. If you wish to avoid having the guards crash down upon you, then do not draw those pistols or do anything out of the ordinary outside of those zones.”

I lean over the map and study it, storing every bit of it away in my brain. When I’m done, I lean back and look at Chaser again.

“These ‘Dream Harvesters’ you are looking for have great influence in the government, the guards in particular. I do not know what access they have achieved, but they can move freely without a care for the cameras. If you want the dealers, then you should keep your search in this district or the club district. If you desire to catch the suppliers and producers, then I recommend you catch the crew that will be passing through here tonight.” Chaser puts his finger down on a red zone on the map. It is in a low-income housing district.

“What time?” I ask.

“After dark is all I know.”

“That’s it?” Rit asks. “Nothing about where their base of operations is? Who runs things? Or even when we should be there? We were told you would have everything we need.”

“Despite what Dyer thinks, his pets do have our limits.”

Rit huffed. “Speak for yourself.”

“I was not speaking of you Agents.”

I exchanged a look with Rit. Neither of us ask who he was speaking of. Or who he is that he calls the big man by his name.

“I do know there is a dangerous man at their head. They refer to him as Falcon. It is my belief that he was sent by the Phantom himself. Treat this mission with care,” Chaser tells us.

“We’ve killed the Phantom’s men before,” Rit says. “This one will be no different.”

Chaser bows his head. “I must return to my mission.”

“And that is?” Rit asks.

“Not for you to know.” Chaser folds up the map and places it back in the duffle bag. He zips the bag closed, picks up his pistol and strides out of the room.

“Who the hell is he?” Rit asks.

“Doesn’t matter, we got what we need,” I say. “Come on, we need to get to that zone before the crew does. We’ve only got about an hour before dark.”

“Oh is that when they’re deciding to switch the light over to nighttime?”

“It is.”

“I hate this planet.”
 

An hour later, I’m sitting behind a rancid dumpster in the low-income housing district. It isn’t the least comfortable place I’ve ever had to wait, but it isn’t my favorite. I check the pockets of my cargo pants again to make sure I have all of the extra magazines Chaser left us. I do. I then fish the suppressor from another pocket and the pistol from my waistband. I hold the suppressor up to the barrel of the pistol. It begins to move, crawling around the end of the barrel, then freezing again. I lay the suppressed weapon on my lap.

Rit sits across the alleyway from me, behind another dumpster. I can just see him, from any other angle he would be invisible. He has his own suppressed pistol on his lap. He is poking through a pile of trash with a broken piece of metal. His nose is wrinkled in disgust.

I look up at the lights over our heads. They have been dimming slowly for half an hour. Now they are nearly out. As I watch, they change, switching to a softer white color that barely reaches the ground. It really is a poor imitation of moonlight.

I don’t know how long passes with us sitting there. My nose goes numb to the smell. Rit stops poking through trash and leans his head against the wall behind him. The sounds of activity outside the alley die down. We are left in near complete silence.

Until footsteps sound from the end of the alley. I straighten, placing a hand on my pistol.

Rit perks up, lifting his own weapon. I hold up a finger to him and lean forward to peer around the dumpster.

A group of people have entered the alley. Four armed men surrounding four unarmed men and two unarmed women. The armed men all wear black trench coats, submachine guns poking out from beneath them. They are more focused on watching the people they are escorting than they are on watching their surroundings. The unarmed people walk with bowed heads and dragging feet. Their hands are bound.

I lean back and look at Rit, who is watching me. I hold up four fingers and nod, then touch my pinky to my thumb, signifying six, and shake my head. He nods and pulls his feet beneath him. I tuck my legs into a crouched position as well.

The footsteps grow closer, until they are just beyond our dumpsters.

Rit raises himself up just enough for his eyes to peek over his dumpster. I follow his lead, gripping my pistol with both hands.

The armed man at the front of the group stops. He looks right at Rit.

Rit’s eyes open wide with fake fear. Then he is springing up, vaulting over the dumpster. And kicking the lead man in the face. The man goes down in a billow of trench coat.

I stand up and set my sights on one of the other armed men. My pistol kicks without a sound and the bullet goes through the man’s head. A red shower sprinkles the ground of the alley. His body falls on top of it.

I lower my pistol and scan the rest of the group. The other two armed men are already down. Rit has his foot planted on the chest of the one he kicked, pistol aimed at the man’s face. The bound people are standing frozen. No one has made a sound.

One of the women opens her mouth to scream.

“Hey, we’re not going to hurt you,” I say, raising a hand. “Please don’t scream.”

The woman freezes with her mouth open and eyes wide.

I step into the open. I hold up my pistol for them to see, then set it on the lid of the dumpster. Rit keeps his pointed at the man on the ground, but shoots looks at the group.

“We’re here for them, not for you. We’re going to stop them from using you like this anymore. As long as you don’t get in our way,” I continue saying to the bound people.

“Use them?” the man beneath Rit’s foot laughs. “Half of them volunteered. We pay well.” He grunts as Rit increases the pressure on his chest.

I eye the group of people watching me. A couple of the men don’t look happy. “Find another way to make money. We’re putting an end to them. Get what we need from him, Chris.”

A cruel smile works its way onto Rit’s face. He turns it to the man under his foot.

“I am going to untie all of you and you are going to go home. If you try anything, we will not hesitate to shoot you,” I say. I grab my pistol from the dumpster.

“That doesn’t seem like a very UDS thing to do,” one of the unhappy men says.

“He’s more UDS than we are,” I say, nodding to the man in the trench coat that Rit is now kneeling on. I walk to the man that had spoken and with one hand untie the knot holding him. He scowl at me, then turns and walks off.

I move on to the next man and go through the same process. It continues through each if the six people.

While I do that, I hear Rit say, “Where were you taking these kind people, huh? Where do you make your shit?” The man responds with curses, then a muffled scream, probably through Rit’s hand on his mouth.

When I untie the last woman, not the one that almost screamed, she doesn’t move. She is staring at Rit. The broken piece of metal he had been poking through trash with is now embedded in the downed man’s shoulder. “Are you just going to torture him until he speaks?” she asks.
 
 

I look the woman up and down. She’s hot. Nice blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, some meat on her bones, good hips.

Mak rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He hates it when I do this.

“Well, we need to know where his base is,” I say, increasing pressure on the metal I stuck in the man’s shoulder. He writhes beneath my knee. “I hate to see a gorgeous woman such as yourself be subject to dealings such as this. You should get out of here before I have to go any farther.”

A smile plays on her lips when I call her gorgeous. I offer her my best seductive smile.

Mak gives me a blank stare, then sets about pulling the man he wasted toward a dumpster.

“You don’t need to torture him to learn where he was taking us,” the woman says. She steps over one of the men I put down without even looking. That’s either suspicious or hot. “They’ve taken me before.”

I stand up, keeping my pistol pointed at the man in the ridiculous trench coat. “You can take us there?”

Mak drops the arm of the guy he’s dragging. “Rit. . .” He knows what I’m thinking.

“I can,” the woman says.

“We can get what we need from him,” says Mak.

My finger slips on the trigger, splattering the brains of my victim across the ground. “Oops,” I say.

Mak purses his lips and gives me a long sigh. “Fine. She can take us.”

I wink at the woman and she smiles back. No reaction to me killing the guy.

“So, what’s your name?” I ask as I tug on the suppressor and the end moves like a million tiny ants and it pulls free from my pistol. I put the suppressor in my pocket and the pistol in my waistband. I then grab the hand of the man I just killed.

“Sophia,” she says. She grabs the leg of the nearest body. She is either very suspicious or my dream girl.

“Nice to meet you, Sophia,” I say. “I’m Chris. This sourpuss is John.”

Sophia nods at us. Together, the three of us stuff all the bodies into the dumpsters. It is dark enough that the blood shouldn’t be found until morning.

“Shall we?” I say, offering my arm to Sophia. She grins and hooks her elbow in mine.

Mak keeps his suppressor on his pistol and his pistol in hand inside his pocket. We lead him, Sophia guiding, out of the alley. A right turn, toward territory we haven’t been. Mak probably knows exactly what is ahead. But that’s his job, not mine.

“So, Sophia, what is it about you that they keep coming back for?” I ask. “Because I get the feeling they aren’t as interested in your stunning looks.”

She shoots me a sideways smile. “No, it’s my brain they’re taken by.”

“Well if it is anything like the rest of you, I can see why.”

She giggles. She doesn’t seem like a giggler.

“Apparently I have strong happy dreams. And you could have come right out of one,” she says, bumping into me.

I glance at Mak, who raises an eyebrow at me. Always suspicious, both of me and everyone else, just for different reasons. I grin at him.

“So they want you for your dreams?” I ask Sophia.

“They induce certain dreams, and somehow make their drugs from that,” she says. “I don’t know the process.” She’s being forthcoming.

“Dream Harvesters. The name makes sense now.”

“Where are we going?” Mak cuts in. Never one for small talk.

We are walking down the dimly lit street. To our side is a wall of buildings mostly run together but for a few alleys. The windows are all blocked, most by drapes, but a couple with boards and one with what looks like the back of a cabinet. Someone is watching us from one with drapes.

“They took me to the industrial district before,” Sophia says. “Their setup looked permanent, so I bet they are still there.”

“That would make sense with what Chaser said, them not having to worry about the guards and all,” I say to Mak, but watch Sophia in the corner of my eye. She doesn’t react to us having that info. That’s a good sign.

“That it would,” Mak says.

He falls quiet and Sophia and I start small talk. My eyes wander as we walk. About the time I learn she is a teacher, I notice the metal seems to be getting darker. When we laugh at some joke I’ve made about Mak a thousand times we are passing a run down general store with a single broken security camera. We bond over a shared love for a certain musical from Wostin while we pass what appears to be a drug deal going down in an alleyway.

“Have you ever tried any of the drugs?” Mak asks.

“Woah, dude,” I say, “you can’t just come right out and ask that of a lady. You’re lucky you’ve already got a girl.”

Sophia laughs. “No, it’s alright. I have not, no. Known plenty of people that have though. In this part of town, most people use happiness.”

“Explain that to me,” I say. “The drugs are emotions?”

“I don’t know the science behind it, but when you put on a patch, supposedly you feel that emotion. They have varying degrees of potency. Here we are, the industrial district.”

We’re at another district divider. The sign above it confirms her statement. The metal all around seems darker than I’ve seen it yet, probably stained with the pollutants I can taste in the air. The filtration system can’t keep up. It is disgusting. They need to update to cleaner, more efficient systems.

“Can you keep your eyes off her well enough to help me keep an eye out for Harvesters?” Mak asks me. I stick my tongue out at him.

Sophia pulls me into the industrial district. It is different than the others. Rather than massive walls lining the streets, the space is open. The ceiling, which is higher here, is home to hundreds of fans trying and failing to suck out the smog filling the empty space above smokestacks and countless other buildings. Some look like office, probably administration for factories and whatever else is down here. The higher ceilings means it is reliant on street lamps for any light. It is all a little overwhelming. There could be hundreds of snipers hiding here. I drum the fingers of my free hand on my leg.

Mak looks no more comfortable than I feel. The arm of the hand he holds his pistol with is tense. His head swivels.

“Back to the drugs,” Mak says, “why don’t you use them? Why doesn’t everyone?”

“It’s like any drug, you can become reliant,” Sophia says. She doesn’t seem fazed by the dark and ominous district. “And people build up tolerance. Not just to the drug, but to the emotion it simulates. The guards do a good job of keeping them off the streets, but stick around long enough and you will see people who are completely numb. They don’t care about anything, most just sit down and starve to death.” Holy shit.

A loud clattering comes from our left. I drop Sophia’s arm and slide the pistol from my waistband. Nothing moves in the shadows.
 
 

I lower the pistol and look around. The map Chaser showed my was filled with red in this district, but we’re not in it. If anyone is watching the cameras, we’ve just given ourselves away.

“You guys should relax,” the woman, Sophia, says. She stands beside Rit, trying to hook her elbow in his again. “I never saw anyone until we reached the sleep rooms before.”

“That just tells me you’re not observant,” I say.

“No, she’s right, we’re jumpy,” Rit says, putting his pistol back in his waistband. But he doesn’t let her take his arm and his fingers tap away at his legs. “If she says they aren’t here, then I trust her,” he says. Sophia smiles at him and starts off again.

I call up an image of Chaser’s map in my mind. Sophia is taking us toward a collection of warehouses with pockets of red. A logical place for drug dealers to set up. But there is way too much cover here, too many sight lines. I tighten my grip on the pistol.

“So those numb guys,” Rit says, “do they really feel nothing? What about fear, anger?”

“Nope, they take care of those too. The Dream Harvesters have it all. There are some sickos that like those ones,” Sophia says.

“Wait, they found a way to make people immune to fear?” Rit straightens up and he looks at her for a few moments before continuing to survey our surroundings. “That could be useful.”

“The military thought so too,” Sophia says. “They tried to hush it up, but everyone knows of the little experiment they ran. Most of those guys ended up getting themselves killed in a matter of days. Fear has its uses.”

She turns us down a small road around an administrative building.

“What do you know about Falcon?” I ask.

She laughs. “He’s a modern day boogeyman,” she says as she guides us around another right turn. “Mothers use him to get their children to behave. I suppose he probably started as a real person, but now he’s basically a demon that plays with emotions and kills unruly children.”

“Our contact seemed to think he is real,” I say. Movement in a window above us. Swinging shades.

“He did say he has his limits,” Rit reminds me. “It is pretty remarkable that he was able to get any accurate info in such a short time. Like where to ambush your group,” he directs the last phrase at Sophia. Her head twitches slightly toward him.

“Well I’m glad he did,” she says after a moment’s pause. And turns us back onto the main road we had been following.

Rit notices too. He draws his pistol again, fitting the suppressor to the barrel.

“What’s wrong?” Sophia asked.

“You just led us by a sentry,” Rit says. “That little detour was probably a signal to those five guys coming out of that building.”

I spin around to face the building we had just walked around. There is a door on the near side. A flash of movement in the window beside it.

“What?” Sophia asks, the hurt and shock in her voice almost genuine.

“Save it,” Rit says.

The door bursts open. Two silent shots go in, one body slumps out. The door bounces on the body, no one else trying to exit.

I step behind a lamp post, taking what little cover it offers. Rit goes for a shallow doorway. Sophia disappears into an alley.

A face appears in the window beside the door. Quick movement in the corner of my eye from Rit, and the face jerks back, a small hole in the glass. I keep my sights on the door.

It inches open, but I wait to fire. Only once I can see most of a trench coat-wearing man do I shoot. Two bullets tear through his chest. He falls onto of the body of his comrade.

Then the door flies open, crashing against the side of the building. Two men stand side by side behind it, submachine guns raised.

Neither gets a shot off before Rit and I shoot them as well.

“Well,” Rit says, “that was easy. Think they even knew there were windows above they could have used to give themselves a better position?”

I shrug and step away from the lamp post. Nobody shoots at me.  Rit meets me in the center of the street. We both stare at the bodies.

“I think your girlfriend went for reinforcements,” I say.

“I think you’re right,” Rit responds.

I turn around to see Sophia walking out of the alley she had disappeared into. Four armed men follow her. I take a step forward, placing myself just ahead of Rit.

“Put your hands up,” one of the armed men says.

I look at Rit, who just shrugs and holds up his hands, pistol hanging from one finger. I do the same and look back at the men pointing weapons at us.

“Drop your guns,” Sophia says.

“I’m very hurt, Sophia,” Rit says. “I thought we really had something.”

“This isn’t personal, Chris. Now drop it.”

Rit’s pistol clatters to the ground. “I’m not Chris. And he’s not John. If we really were, then you would all be dead already. Because they could have come in here with battlesuits and finished this mission in half an hour, but no-”

“Quiet,” one of the men snaps.

“Drop yours too, John, or whatever your name is,” Sophia says.

“Are you just going to shoot us anyway?” I ask.

“Not if you drop your gun. Not now anyway.”

“Alright.” I tip my hand and let the pistol slip from my finger.  It falls toward the ground.
 
 

My eyes drop from Sophia’s pretty face to the pistol tumbling from Mak’s finger. My lip twitches. And my left hand shoots out, catching the pistol.

My finger finds the trigger. I squeeze it twice. One man goes down. I twist the pistol upright and swing it to a second man. One shot and he’s wasted. The hole in his forehead is an improvement to his looks. I drop the other two in similar fashion. Only then does Sophia start to react. Her eyes widen and she takes a step back. I scoop my own pistol from the ground with my other, my dominant, hand and point it at her.

She looks at each of the four dead men, then back at me. “We really did have something-”

“No we didn’t,” I say and put one between her eyes. Not an improvement on her, but oh well. She crumples to the ground.

“I think you’re out,” I say, handing Mak’s pistol back to him. He swaps the empty magazine out for one from his pocket.

“So,” Mak says, “you just killed our guide.”

“Oops. I hope you know where she was taking us,” I say.

“I have an idea. There’s a grouping of warehouses that looked promising.”

“I don’t need to know the details. You just get me there.”

Mak nods and closes his eyes. I can see them moving beneath their lids. No doubt conjuring up a map.

“They have to know we’re coming by now, so we’re going to have to find a way in that’s not well guarded.”

“I-”

“Don’t need to know the details, I know, I’m talking for myself,” Mak says. He does this a lot, and it’s fun every time to make him think I think he’s talking to me.

While he continues talking himself through a plan, I look around. We’re in an administrative section, every building seeming to house offices. I can see towers and conveyor belts to one side, silos to the other. Ahead, the road stretches on in a straight line, dim in the streetlights struggling to cover it. Something moves through one of them.

“I think I found a way in,” Mak says.

It’s a person. No, two. Four. Shit.

“Mak!” I say, dropping into a balanced stance and gripping my pistol with both hands.

“What?” He opens his eyes. Just in time to see a bullet slam into his shoulder. Blood spurts and he spins around. He hits the ground and rolls toward one side of the street. I dive toward the other. More bullets spray the street.

“Shit. Mak, you good?” I call over the street once I find cover in the alley next to the building with the bodies of the men we killed. Mak is on one knee in an alley opposite. He’s pressing his uninjured hand into his shoulder, but he nods. He tears off the bottom of his shirt and ties it around his shoulder with his free hand, then picks up his pistol. Luckily it’s his left side that was shot. He’s not as good with his off hand as I am with mine.

I peer out from my alley with a single eye. There are nine men in the street now, spread out in a sort of fan shape. Most have submachine guns and trench coats, but at the front and center walks one man with a longer rifle and no coat. This man wears tactical get-up, just like I would be if I weren’t undercover: cargo pants with thigh-holster, armored vest with extra mags attached to it and a helmet, all in tan instead of our preferred black. He also has more flair than I like, I can see a bird’s head painted on his helmet as he walks under a lamp. And there are two holographic wings projected out behind him. Showy bastard.

I duck back behind the wall and look across the street at Mak. He shrinks back from his own surveying and meets my gaze.

“Did you just see what I just saw?” I ask.

“It seems Falcon is real after all,” he says. “And he works directly for the Phantom.”

Our job just got a lot harder.

“How well can you shoot?” I call over to Mak.

His answer comes in the form of a peek around the corner and a shot through the right-most man’s noggin. He ducks back in cover before his victim hits the ground. A fresh fusillade of bullets pocks the wall he his hiding behind.

“You could have just said ‘fine’,” I say.

“But now there’s only eight of them.”

I smirk and ready my own pistol. After a steadying breath, I pivot around the corner and raise my pistol-

And dive backward onto my back to avoid a well-placed shot from Falcon. I mutter several curses and roll back to my knees.

“They’re passing a sidestreet that goes through,” I yell to Mak. “We could loop around behind them.”

He closes his eyes for a few moments, then nods. “That’ll work. Pretty straightforward to get there.”

Before either of us can move, however, a voice calls to us. “I know who you are,” the voice says. Gotta be Falcon.

“No you don’t!” I shout back. I wave Mak away. He nods and races down his alley, leaving drops of blood in his wake. At least there’s blood soaking through the back of his bandage too, the bullet went through.

“You are Agents of the Shadows,” Falcon says.

I scowl. Standing, I roll my shoulders and adjust my grip on my pistol. “Alright, so you know what we are, but you don’t know who!”

“It doesn’t matter, you’re all the same. Highly trained drones for your leader.”

That’s rich, coming from a man belonging to the Phantom. I pivot into the open and shoot, then dodge back. The look was long enough to see Falcon drop to a knee and to know my shot would go high. It was also long enough to see Mak peering out from the side street behind the men attacking us. The dude is faster than I give him credit for. I was going to meet him back there, but a crossfire will work well.

“You’re right about one thing,” I say. I drop to a knee and swallow hard. A long breath to calm those incessant nerves. “We are highly trained.” I slide out from cover and put one shot at one of the trench-coated goons. He drops. The others lift their weapons.

Then Mak shoots one in the back. The others spin around in shock, Falcon included. I shoot him in the back of the vest, where it’s hidden by the wings. The bullet penetrates and he pitches forward. Thank God Chaser had armor piercing bullets for us. Falcon hits the ground, but is back to a knee in a moment. My shot was off. Two of the goons turn back to me.

I slide back behind cover. Mak has already done the same.

Falcon screams in frustration, and more than a little pain I hope. “Give it up, I’ve got more men on the way here right now.”
 
 

I bite my lip until blood seeps over my tongue. The metallic taste and fresh pain don’t distract me from that radiating from my shoulder. My left arm is basically useless. Rit got Falcon with a solid shot, but the man’s still standing and he has five others with him. And, if he’s telling the truth, more on the way. We’ve been in worse binds.

“How many Agents have you killed?” I call.

“Excuse me?” Falcon asks.

“How many Agents of the Shadows have you killed?”

There’s a moment of confused silence. Then he answers, “You will be my first two.”

Rit’s laugh carries over the street. I grin.

“You’re dreaming,” Rit says. “Even with your little friends there, you’re no match for us. See, each of us has killed dozens of your friends. You don’t get on the Grip of Vengeance without knowing how to kill the Phantom’s little rats.”

I hear a curse from Falcon.

“That’s right,” Rit continues. “We’re senior members of the Grip of Vengeance. Do you see now? You’re fucked.”

I step out and ready my pistol to shoot at the men in the street. Only, they’re not there.

They have split into two groups, one stalking along the building opposite me toward Rit, the other hugging the wall in front of me. Falcon leads this group, blood seeping over one leg. Rifle pointed at me.

I drop to the ground and wince as my injured shoulder strikes it. A pair of shots goes over my head. I roll back into the alley before they can correct their aim.

Gunfire comes from the other side of the street, toward Rit. After a few bursts, it dies out. There’s no indication of the outcome.

“You know, we get a bump in prestige for taking down members of your special Grip of Vengeance,” Falcon says. Pain is starting to come through in his voice. “There’s a wall of the names of everyone that has done it. And soon I’ll be up there.”

“In your dreams, asshole!” Rit shouts. I let out a breath. He’s still alive.

“Trust me. My counterpart is about here. This little fight is over.”

“Counterpart?” I mutter.

“Hello,” a voice says behind me.

I spin. And look straight into the eyes of a painted bird face. Right before it smashes into my head. My vision goes black for a moment and my legs come out from under me. I hit the ground in a wave of pain. It takes several blinks for me to see well enough to see who had struck me.

The man standing above me is Falcon, with his painted helmet and holographic wings, like a demented angel. But he isn’t bleeding. And he looks different.

Now there are two sets of wings standing over me.

His counterpart. Another man sporting the image of Falcon.

“Get him up,” Falcon 2.0 says. “I want to see how he dreams.”

More men appear around me. One of them drops and everyone ducks. There is a burst of gunfire. Then they’re standing again. Hands grab me and lift me to my feet. Pain flushes through my head as it is forced upright. My knees cave, but someone catches me.

Falcon 2.0 turns and walks the way he had come. I am prompted to follow. Falcon 1.0 labors alongside me.

“Everyone not helping him move, finish off his partner,” Falcon 1.0 says. Several men drop back.

“I thought you wanted on that wall, not those goons,” I say.

“I’ll still get the credit. They don’t even know what we’re talking about,” he says.

“You’ll have to split the credit with me,” Falcon 2.0 says. “You may have shot this one, but I took him down.”

“Why don’t you kill me?” I spit.

Falcon 2.0 laughs. “I knew you Shadows all had a death wish. I’m sure you’ll die. But the Phantom wants someone from your group alive. He thinks he can get you to talk. We’re going to get a headstart. Tell me, what’s your worst nightmare?”

 
 
 
 

For more, read Operation Torch Part 2