Shrugging it off, I followed Grim back to my apartment. He’d brought along a collection of cult films. I wanted to think about anything but stormtech, and Kowalski had not called us with her follow-up intel, so I agreed to a marathon. We sprawled on my couch, printing up an endless supply of snacks from Compass’ weirdest and wildest establishments as Grim’s films got bloodier, crazier and more abstract.
After the fifth feature and second bowl of seaweed-flavoured chips, the Rubix’s rabbit avatar hopped onto the coffee table and eyed the screen with a wide yawn. ‘Oh, films. How very droll. Really, is there nothing else you can do?’
‘Toss off, bunny. I’m educating Mr Fukasawa here,’ Grim said. ‘Have you seen the trash they play in New Vladi?’
I nodded at the screen, where a young woman in a bloody dress was spewing curses and violently strumming a guitar equipped with chainsaws, the incoming crowds of dull-eyed, brain-dead adults being blasted backwards with shockwaves of righteous sound. ‘Yeah, and this is the height of culture.’
‘My culture.’ He slapped my arm and grinned. ‘It’s a rite of passage.’
I endured it, more for Grim’s benefit than mine. I wasn’t sure what time it was when we were done, but I printed out a mattress for Grim, the sweeperbot gobbling up the crumbs, and then crashed down into my own bed. I stank, but couldn’t bring myself to move.
Tendrils of stormtech were squirming hard along my sides, digging into my armpits. I ran my hands down my body, trying to dislodge it, but it didn’t work this time. I tossed again, feeling the bodies of the men I’d killed in the arena floating over me. I replayed myself. Kicking, punching, clawing. Stormtech or not, that had been me. And I was ready to wave it away as an excuse.
Was I already becoming my father?
The thought was so dirty I was going to need a shower right now. I rolled off the bed to shower and change when I heard a strange, muffled scratching coming from the door. A faint yellow light flitted through the cracks. The soft blip of a security bypass programme. The Jackal hadn’t received the satisfaction he’d wanted from the arena fight. I’d beaten him, publicly, and cost him money. Not only was I still alive and kicking, I hadn’t killed Grim in front of a crowd. He was sending people along to remedy that right now.
The door crashed open, a shadowy figure rushing forward. The flashing stormtech was like a beacon on my chest. I threw myself sideways as he fired his scattershot. The muzzle flash flared up in the darkness, the shot blasting a mouthful of concrete and wood from the wall behind me. A shell went clattering to the floor, surprisingly loud. My assailant whirled around, firing another shell towards the AI’s rabbit figure. The projection stuttered from the shot, as it turned its black, furred face towards him. ‘Oh dear. I fear you have made a very grave mistake,’ the rabbit informed the intruder in a huffy tone. He aimed his scattershot upwards as the turret slid out of the wall and levelled towards the shooter. ‘Mine’s bigger,’ the rabbit said, an evil gleam in its black eyes as the autocannon ripped to life. I hugged the floor, hands clamped around my ears, the thunderous roar bursting in my skull. The high-calibre rounds punched through the intruder’s chest like nails being hammered into wood, the kitchen exploding in a shower of glass and plaster. Pipes burst and sprayed water into the room.
A second figure charged into the scene, out of range of the autocannon’s sensors. I stole forward and hurled my mattress at him. He punched a smoking hole through the fabric with his scattershot, missing me. Heart jackhammering away, I kicked the coffee table into his shins. He yelped, smashing down onto the wood, the broken glass cutting into his cheeks. He growled, firing blindly and gouging a hole in the ceiling. Debris rained down as I clawed for my handcannon on the end table. Not fast enough. The world crunched as he slammed the butt of his weapon into my face. I grabbed a wooden stool, brought it smashing down on the hand holding the weapon, and then his kneecap, splinters scattering with a loud crack. He dropped the weapon but had the strength to stab a kick straight into my stomach, right below my ribcage. He turned, frantically searching for his discarded scattershot. Head ringing, blood in my mouth, I crawled over the broken glass and snatched up my handcannon, rolling on my back. There was the dull whine of a scattershot priming as my assailant turned towards me. I squeezed down, the recoil vibrating in my hands. The round punched through his neck just as he tilted it upwards and went spitting out the top of his skull. His head whipped backwards with a splitting crack, taking the full force of the blow. He sagged to his knees, almost comically, before falling face-down on the glass.
A sound from behind. I swung around, aiming down my handcannon sights, finger tight on the trigger. It was Grim. He was lying on the floor and his face was speckled with blood. I blinked. His expression was somewhere between confusion and fear – the same wary look he’d worn in the arena. I reached down to help him up, but he’d climbed to his feet himself. He’d been hiding behind the door ever since the autocannon went ballistic. ‘How’d they get in?’ he croaked.
I picked up a membrane-thin pad, filaments squirming in the translucent gel like trapped nerves. ‘Overrode the security system.’
‘How’d they find us?’ Grim was slowly stepping away from the bodies and their spreading blood. The room was a
